


Bucky Barnes Got Married

by 27dragons, monobuu, tisfan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baseball, Child Abuse, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Unreliable Narrator, alternate universe - high school (sort of), brief Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, minor/background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, suicide mention (but no attempt), time travel (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 90,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/monobuu/pseuds/monobuu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky married Tony when they were both teenagers. Tony had just lost his parents and Bucky had just lost his arm, and they thought sticking together was the best choice they could make. Now, twenty years later, Bucky fears that he’s lost Tony’s love and is wondering if they made the wrong choice, after all. More than anything, he wishes that he could go back in time and try again, but that’s just a fantasy... or is it?(For the HEA Prompts, #11: When a restless young married Character A is granted a wish by a Christmas Angel to be single again, they soon discover their new life isn’t what they bargained for, and embark on a quest to win Character B back.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 1401
Kudos: 1257
Collections: MHEA Holiday Movie Challenge 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> About the Choose Not To Warn warning: This is a little complicated because time travel... An adult!Bucky transported into his own teenaged body pursues a romantic and physical relationship with a teenaged Tony. They don’t do anything sexual on-screen heavier than some minor groping, the timing is about the same as when the (actually) teenaged Bucky began his relationship with Tony, and because the fic is entirely from Bucky’s point of view, it’s clear that he’s not attempting to manipulate Tony, so the authors feel like this is simply a natural result of the situation. But if the thought makes you uncomfortable, this may not be the fic for you. If you have questions about the specifics, please feel free to ask us!

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kfZbdEvY5Wa0x6dWZtY2hMbGtIZGZWa2FKTGZXTHYtcU5r)

The high school gym didn’t really look any different after twenty years. It was still large and empty with visible rafters. Bucky found himself peering up, wondering if Clint Barton would be climbing in them, as he’d been wont to do during their high school career. He didn’t see Clint, if he was there.

Streamers and colored lights did their best to make things look somehow ethereal and magic. Like it had been at prom.

He glanced at his husband.

Prom had been their first date, so long ago.

Bucky reminisced. Asking Tony to prom had been such a daring move at the time. They had been from very different social spheres, with only a few friends in common.

“Looks like prom,” he said to Tony, nudging him. 

“Hm?” Tony looked up from his phone, glanced around the gym. “Yeah, I guess so. God, we’re adults now; the committee couldn’t have sprung for a venue that doesn’t smell like sweatsocks?”

So much for nostalgia, Bucky thought. There was a table near the door, covered with name tags. Each one had a picture of the person that they’d been, way back when.

He almost didn’t see himself, looking for “James Stark,” but--

 _Barnes, Bucky. All-Star Second Base._

He had both arms in the picture, had his baseball bat resting on his shoulder and that old devil-may-care grin on his face. Bucky Barnes, who’d asked Tony goddamn Stark out on a date on a dare. Not thinking he’d accept. Not thinking, even if he accepted, that something would happen.

James Stark…

Bucky picked up his badge; a cheap plastic flap with a safety pin on the back. He inhaled, smiled at Maria Hill, who was manning the table. “You haven’t changed,” he said, which was almost true. Her hair was, if possible, even shorter than it had been in high school. He glanced at Tony, who was still poking his phone, and then asked Maria, “Can I borrow your hand?” He waved the badge at her. He could do it; he’d been functioning without his left arm for most of his adult life, but safety pins were tricky, sharp bastards, and he didn’t feel like bleeding on his shirt.

“Sure thing,” Maria said. She stood up and leaned across the table to pin the badge on Bucky, shooting a sharp, curious glance at Tony. “And here’s your drink tickets,” she added, handing them over. “Those run out, the bartender takes cash and credit,” she added with a wink. She didn’t offer to help Tony with his badge, or hand him any drink tickets.

“Yes!” Tony said happily, and finally turned off the phone and tucked it into his pocket. “Hope’s coming.” He looked over the badges and found his, fastening it carefully to his suit pocket. “Did you find yours-- Oh, you did, great.” He gave Bucky a bland smile and offered his arm. “Shall we go see who’s here?”

Bucky eyed the badges; everyone who had RSVPd was supposed to have a badge. _Barton, Clint_ , wasn’t here yet, but was expected. Ditto _Romanoff, Natasha_ , but Nat was always fashionably late, even when it wasn’t fashionable.

He didn’t see a tag for _Rogers, Steve_.

“Do you know if Steve’ll--” he started to ask Maria, but Tony was already leading him away from the table and toward the bar. Right. He put on his smile; after years of being married to Tony Stark, he had almost as good a press-face as his husband. 

_You could at least pretend to be happy, sometimes._

“Oh, hey, there’s Bruce,” Tony said, pointing. “I haven’t talked to him in -- god, years.”

Bruce had gone grey and wore glasses now. If he hadn’t been wearing one of those ugly purple shirts he’d been so fond of back in the day, Bucky might not have recognized him. Bruce’s gaze darted absently from Tony, to Bucky, to Bucky’s neatly pinned up and tailored sleeve. 

Bucky let his smile get wider, rather than clenching his jaw. He was one of the richest, most famous amputees in the world. Tony Stark’s spouse. He was used to people looking at the empty sleeve and then taking a slight step back, as if being an amputee was contagious. He’d been asked all manner of intrusive questions about it by the press, including one persistent reporter who continued to believe that Tony and Bucky couldn’t possibly have a satisfying sex life, since Bucky only had the one.

“Bruce,” Bucky said, easily. “Or should I say, Dr. Banner? I saw you’d gotten tenure at Culver, how’s academia treating you?”

“It’s a constant scramble for funding and squabbling over who gets to teach the high-level classes, but the bits where they actually let me into the lab once in a while are great,” Bruce said. He offered Bucky his hand, and then Tony.

“Brucie-bear,” Tony said fondly. “You’re working too hard! You should take a sabbatical, come up to New York and dig in on some actual research for a while.” He slung an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “It’s been too long -- what’re you working on these days?”

“Effects of low-level gamma emissions on growth patterns--” 

That was about all Bucky understood, though he stood and nodded and smiled for another several minutes, that smile aching in his cheeks. He was considering how to politely slip away when he heard, “Bucky? Oh my god, _Bucky!_ ” and then Steve Rogers was there, pulling him into an enthusiastic hug. “It’s been so long!”

“Steve!” Bucky let Steve hug him for a little longer than was appropriate. There were questions, questions he knew Steve was going to have, and Bucky didn’t want to answer them. Steve had quit high school, gone out on the road to do some traveling art and photography-- thing. Epic journey of self-discovery, find himself out in the midwest or something. 

Which meant Steve had not been here-- not for the accident or the wedding or anything. It was hard to keep in touch with someone who didn’t settle down.

“You look fantastic,” Steve said, holding Bucky at arm’s length to look him up and down. His eyes barely skated over the empty sleeve. “God, it’s good to see you. I was worried you wouldn’t come, since you’re all high society now.” He said it with an affected air and a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

Bucky turned, automatically, to wave his hand at Tony and introduce-- Steve had known, of course, who Tony Stark was. But it was doubtful they’d ever spoken in high school.

But Tony had wandered off without even a word. Bucky scanned the groups--

 _Oh._ Tony and Bruce had gone off to hobnob with the rest of the science nerds from school, Reed Richards, Shuri, Peter Parker. And _Hope Pym_.

Bucky couldn’t quite keep his mouth from flattening into a line of concern. Tony had been nuts for Hope in high school, but her father had absolutely forbidden his daughter from dating a Stark. And they’d only recently reconnected. _It’s business_ , Bucky told himself.

But it didn’t make things any easier that Hope had both arms -- and was showing them off in a beautiful sleeveless dress, a little too daring for a high school reunion and the chilly almost-Christmas weather outside. But she looked very good. Professional. Competent. Smart. All those things that Tony admired.

Bucky looked back at Steve, hoping he hadn’t spaced out too long. “So, did you _find yourself,_ out there in Missouri, like you always said you were going to?”

“You know, I actually think I did,” Steve said. “Or at least, I found my voice. My style, you know? My new book is doing really well -- I brought along a copy for the ‘Where Are They Now?’ table. You should take a look if you get a chance, I’m really proud of this one.” He waved carelessly over his shoulder. “What about you, what are you doing these days?”

Bucky almost gave Steve the approved PR blurb, charity work, mostly. He was the chairman of the September Foundation, which distributed educational and scientific grants, along with other pet projects for Stark Industries. “Oh, just about nothing, really,” Bucky said. Which felt more true than it was. Being the foundation chair was quite a lot of work, fielding requests, handling the press, overlooking the finances, deciding on goals and direction. But most of the time, it didn’t _feel_ important. “Keeping house for Tony Stark, you know.”

And it wasn’t like that wasn’t a lot of work, too. Keeping up with Tony’s schedule, the household finances (which were a lot bigger than grocery store trips and making sure Tony got his annual eye doctor appointment), press junkets for Stark Industries. 

_I’m a support class,_ he sometimes thought _, for the hero of the story._

He couldn’t lie to Steve Rogers, who’d been his best friend. His only friend, these days, that wasn’t somehow invested in Stark Industries, or business partners, or donors. Steve would understand. And he wouldn’t go blabbing back to Tony about Bucky’s petty grievances.

“Sounds like you could do with some self-finding, yourself,” Steve said seriously, his hand warm on Bucky’s shoulder. “I admit, I was surprised when I heard about you and Tony.”

“Yeah, I think everyone was,” Bucky said, and he looked for Tony again. Even now, with everything that had happened, he was still as helplessly drawn to the man as a needle to a magnet. “I mean, it was… it was just luck.” Some kind of luck, at any rate. “I asked him to prom and he said yes. We… well, we got married… end of that summer. Twenty years in August.”

He didn’t mention the _reason_ that they got married: that Tony’s parents had yanked them away from an after prom party where they weren’t supposed to be. Howard had been drunk as hell, and they’d crashed into a truck.

Bucky woke up in the hospital two days later with no arm and no money.

Tony woke up with no parents, and exposed in the press for being gay, so in the long run, maybe Bucky had been the one better off. The wedding had been Tony’s idea; give Tony someone to help him with the sudden responsibilities of Stark Industry, give Bucky a helpmate, and the money he needed for a half-dozen surgeries. They made the best of the situation.

Which hadn’t stopped Bucky from falling in love with his husband. He just wished… sometimes. That things had been different.

“Well, almost twenty years,” Steve said, “you guys seem to have made a solid run of it, yeah?” He sounded a little doubtful, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder to where Tony had been, the last time Bucky looked. “Are you happy?”

Bucky couldn’t help looking, even as he said, “Well, can’t complain, really.”

Except that Tony was _dancing_ with Hope Pym. 

Dancing with her _first_ , at this stupid high school reunion. Where he should have taken Bucky for the first turn around the room, even if they didn’t really dance. Not anymore.

“Hope you don’t mind my saying, Buck, but you don’t really look that happy,” Steve said softly. “It’s okay, if things didn’t turn out the way you hoped. You know? That’s... That’s not your fault. No one’s fault, really.”

“No, I know,” Bucky said. He glanced at Steve, still gorgeous as always, with those piercing blue eyes and that blonde hair that had made Bucky’s palm itch to touch it, even back in the day. Back before Steve had left. “Want to dance with me?”

“I’d love to.” Steve offered a hand and drew Bucky out onto the floor. His arm curled around Bucky’s waist snugly, their hands fit like they’d been practicing for months.

The music was old, just the same way the gymnasium was old. The way Bucky was old.

But for a moment, they weren’t old at all. They were young and strong and had their whole lives in front of them. Dreams unfollowed and hearts unbroken. When anything had seemed possible.

“You ever wonder about how it would have been,” Bucky said, softly.

Steve had asked him to go… to drop out of school and just _leave town_.

“Who doesn’t?” Steve returned, just as softly. “Sometimes I think that’s what reunions are all about. Reliving those days, imagining how different everything would be if only...” He broke off with a small shrug, faintly smiling as he looked into Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, if only,” Bucky said. And then he put it out of his head. Or tried. Best to just enjoy Steve’s company, not think about what might have, or what used to have been. Back in the day. Glory days, Bruce Springsteen had sung, and in the day, Bucky hadn’t really known what that would mean, exactly.

They spun around, and Bucky caught a glimpse of Tony, still dancing with Hope, talking animatedly, excitedly. His whole face lit up, the way it used to when he talked to Bucky. Bucky couldn’t tell how low on her back Tony’s hand was.

He hated himself a little for trying to see.

“You know,” Steve said, interrupting his thoughts, “I had the biggest crush on you, back then.”

“Yeah?” Bucky grinned at that. He’d known, because Steve had been nothing like subtle. “Tell the truth, I can’t remember why--” He meant why he’d not acted on it, but also, he couldn’t imagine why Steve _would_. Bucky had been arrogant and overconfident, and quite honestly, he’d been a bit of a tool.

He hadn’t learned just how vulnerable he was until the accident.

Steve chuckled warmly, and Bucky felt the vibrations of it all the way down his chest and into his stomach. “Why wouldn’t I? You were all-star, maybe not honor roll all the time but decent grades. Smoking hot, if you can ignore the fashions we thought were cool, then. I mean, you’re still hot, of course, just in a more mature way now. And kind. You rescued me from those jock assholes more than once, and I think I decided right then and there I was in love.” Steve was smiling nostalgically.

Bucky inhaled, just a little deeper than he had before. “Yeah, well, Brock Rumlow had it coming. Always did.”

Steve laughed again. How long had it been since he’d been able to make Tony laugh so easily? “You’ll get no argument from me,” Steve said.

That was warming, somehow. Nice to know that someone still found him funny. Interesting. Steve couldn't seem to look away, and it was nice, not to feel like an _obligation._

“Do you remember, with that kid, what was his name, he was like a freshman… Coulson? Didn’t he have the biggest thing for you? He stood up to Rumlow a few times, too, but always ended up getting stuffed in the trash. Did you know, I hear he’s working for the CIA now.”

“Oh, god, I hadn’t thought of him in _years_ ,” Steve admitted. “The CIA, really? Wow.”

Bucky walked back with Steve to the bar, cashed in his drink ticket. “Buy you some cheap rum, you lightweight?” Not that Steve really was, anymore. He’d grown several inches, put on weight. He didn’t look like a pencil-necked geek anymore. In fact, the more Bucky was looking, the more Steve looked like someone who just might have been Bucky’s… type.

He took a few sips of his drink. Those were _dangerous_ thoughts.

And then Tony was there, leaning into the bar and up against Bucky’s side. “Hey, honey,” Tony said, a little distractedly. He waved at the bartender. “Club soda and a napkin?”

“Hey, Tony,” Bucky said. “You remember Steve, right? Did you two ever meet--” He squinted at his husband; Tony _always_ drank. Whiskey when he could get it, tequila at a mid-shelf event like this.

Tony glanced past Bucky at Steve. “Rogers, right? Yeah, no, I don’t think we ever met, but I remember you, a little.” He took the glass from the bartender, dipped the napkin in it, and started dabbing at his collar.

“What, did someone spill on you, alread--” Bucky broke off because that was a pink smudge against Tony’s white shirt. Rosebud, almost. Bucky’s eyes went from the smear of lipstick, up to his husband’s face, and then, just as helplessly, he turned, looking at the crowd.

What color had _Hope Pym’s_ lipstick been? Was it a deeper red, or had she gone with something pink?

“Some early drinkers shoved Hope right into me,” Tony said. “I barely caught her before she hit the floor.” It sounded plausible enough, but Tony wasn’t meeting Bucky’s eyes. Maybe that was just because he was trying to look at the smear of lipstick. Maybe not.

“Well, wasn’t that fortuitous,” Bucky said, feeling his heart settle somewhere around his ankles. It wasn’t that he didn’t _know_. All he had to do on any given day was read the papers. Tony was a world class flirt, and there was always speculation. Early on, in the first few years of their marriage, Bucky had laughed it off. And then he’d asked Tony about it (Tony had at least always denied it) and then he’d just… ignored it.

But Tony had never been quite so crass as to wave it in Bucky’s face. To do anything right in the same damn room.

It shouldn’t hurt so much, dammit. But maybe, maybe Bucky kept hoping that it _wasn’t_ true.

Tony didn’t seem to notice Bucky’s distress. He just kept dabbing at his collar, until finally he turned to face Bucky directly and said, “Did I get it all?”

Tony’s collar was damp, pulled away from his skin, showing off a peek of his throat. The kind of thing that would have made Bucky want to press his lips there.

Right where-- right where Hope’s lips had been, apparently.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said, and he fussed Tony’s tie back into place. Being the dutiful spouse. Not letting it bother him. “Oh, I think I see Clint, _finally_. Fifteen minutes late with Starbucks, as always. I’m going to go say hi before he ends up in the rafters. Steve, it was great talking to you.”

And he walked off.

Behind him, he heard Tony say something to Steve, he didn’t know what, couldn’t make out the words. Didn’t matter; he recognized the tone. Public event gladhanding, making small talk, looking for some way to turn the conversation to his own ends. 

Bucky did, in fact, see Clint, but he walked right past him. Looking for a quiet, out of the way corner.

The display table for _where are they now_ was less absorbing than it might have been. 

He thumbed through Steve's new book -- he owned the first one, at home somewhere in their stylized penthouse, professionally decorated and tasteful was an art book hidden among the other coffee table books.

 _To the man I left behind. You know who you are._ That was a bold dedication. And not subtle, telling Bucky to look at it.

He put the book down and walked away. Was he really considering an affair? No, he probably wasn't. He didn't think he had it in him to cheat. But maybe if things had been different, if he'd never dated Tony at all… well then maybe he'd know what Steve Rogers' mouth tasted like.

Bucky found himself in the front hall, staring at his old baseball trophy. 

God, what his life might have been like. 

He'd been good. Really good. He'd been scouted.

He could have been someone. 

Bucky Barnes, not Mr. Tony Stark.

But the trophy didn’t mean anything anymore, just like nothing in his life meant anything, anymore. The bracelet he constantly wore on his wrist, that Tony had given to him a few days after the accident, gained weight, the way it always seemed to in moments like these. 

“I was born with a congenital heart defect,” Tony had told him, hand going to the long, pale scar on his chest. “Doctors said I would probably not live past ten, but the year I turned ten, a new kind of surgery was invented. They replaced part of my heart with an artificial valve. And now I’m fine. And… you’re going to be fine, too.”

The bracelet itself was simple, a double link platinum band with a tiny locket, and inside the locket was a scrap of Tony’s hospital band. The outside of the locket, delicate and engraved, said “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.”

“Pepper, you know Pepper, she went to my old school? She had this made for me for my fifteenth birthday. I… I want you to have it. Since you have my heart now.”

It had seemed utterly romantic at the time, and Bucky rarely took it off. Not only because he had one hand and putting it back on was sometimes a pain in the ass. Tony had watched him struggle with it, one time, and had taken it away for two days to make a magnetic micro-lock in the latch. And even then, Bucky wore it most of the time.

He had a wedding ring, but it always felt weird, wearing it on his right hand, so he often didn’t. The bracelet, though.

The bracelet, he wore all the time.

Tony’s heart, in his care.

Bucky sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we know that legally, Bucky and Tony could not have gotten married in 1998; that said, time travel is also not possible, so you know, rather than deal with the legal/political bullshit in the late nineties, and to fit in with the tropes we wanted to do, we just backed up the whole equal marriage rights.


	2. Chapter 2

“You look like a man with a lot on his mind,” said a deep voice from behind Bucky. When Bucky turned, a man stepped out of the shadows of the empty halls, tall and thin, handsome in an austere way, wearing a suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place at one of Tony’s high society fundraisers -- except for the gold and emerald tie-tack, which was startlingly large and seemed to glow in the dim light. The man’s eyes were pale and oddly intense.

"Suppose that happens," Bucky said, "when you're at one of these things. Wondering what decisions you made that made -- this -- inevitable." He squinted. "Do I know you?"

“I doubt it,” the man said. “Call me Doctor Strange.” He took two steps, and was standing next to Bucky, admiring the school’s collection of trophies and awards. “Most of us,” he said thoughtfully, “have regrets in our lives. Things we’d like to try over again. Things we think could have turned out differently, if only we’d known what would happen.”

Bucky felt oddly compelled by that voice, those eyes. "Ain't that I don't love my husband. I do. I don't want to hurt him. I just want him to be very happy. Somewhere else. I feel like a burden to him. Like he didn't have a choice. Making the best of a bad situation. He wasn't always… like that."

“We are none of us as we were,” Doctor Strange said philosophically. He turned to look at Bucky, and even if Bucky wasn’t looking back, it seemed he could feel the weight of the man’s gaze. “Tell me,” he said, “if you could have any wish -- what would it be?”

"Wanna go back," Bucky said. "Glory days and all that. This--" he wiggled his stump by way of explanation. "It changed everything. I just want a chance. To be loved for who I am. Who I could have been."

Make different choices. Knowing what would happen. Pick a different path.

“Is that truly would you would wish for? To go back, to try again, knowing what you know now?”

"Yeah," Bucky said. "Yeah, I do." It was bullshit, of course. There wasn't a do-over button on life. He was never going to have a wild romance and a great career. He had his life and his rich, handsome husband. And he was just whining. 

So many people had it worse, all things considered. He shouldn't be so bitter about it.

“Very well, James Buchanan Barnes,” Doctor Strange intoned. That tie-tack really _was_ glowing, Bucky realized, a pale, glowing swirl under the filigreed gold, almost hypnotic. “Most never get a second chance to make the best of their life. May you use yours wisely.”

The light grew brighter, and then brighter still, almost blinding -- and then everything went dark.

"The fuck--" Bucky said, and he sat up. _Sat_? What the hell? He'd just been standing. His head ached like crazy.

"Mr. Barnes," Principal Fury snapped. "Watch your mouth!" 

Bucky was sitting on the floor in front of the trophy case. But it was day, and he was surrounded by _teenagers_.

"Does anyone care to explain what happened here?" Fury was saying.

"I saw it," Steve said. And it was Steve. But he was tiny. And young. What the utter fuck--

Bucky raised his hands -- both hands -- to scrub at his face. 

And found himself staring at his palms, eyes filling with tears.

"Oh God," he choked.

“Mr. Barnes, if you cannot control yourself, you may go to the nurse’s office,” Fury snapped.

Steve was still somewhat hotly describing the actions of Rumlow and his cronies. Bucky didn’t know what they’d done, but he could probably guess.

"Principal Fury," Bucky said, almost numb with shock. "Can uh… can Steve walk me t' the nurse? I think I got my head cracked."

That was at least a reasonable explanation of events. Head injury. It made sense. He was hallucinating.

Fury glared at him suspiciously, but eventually nodded. “Both of you, then. Straight there. I _will_ know if you take any detours!”

“C’mon!” Steve hissed, tugging at Bucky’s arm to pull him to his feet. “How bad did they get you? That was really brave of you, jumping in like that.”

“Bravery’s what you call it when you do somethin’ stupid and win,” Bucky muttered. He kept rubbing at his left hand with his right fingers, relishing the feel of his own skin. “What happened-- I seem t’have… what day is it? _Fuck_ , what goddamn month is it?”

“Wow, they clocked you good, huh?” Steve’s bright eyes crinkled in worry. “Let’s get you to the nurse; she’ll give you an ice pack.”

“I’m real serious, right here, Stevie. What day is it? I don’t remember,” Bucky said. It had to be before March, at least, since that was when Steve had bought his motorcycle, climbed on it, and vanished from Bucky’s life. Which meant-- oh, at least if it was senior year… it couldn’t be much earlier than that, could it?

Steve gave him an odd look. “January 9th,” he said slowly. “You had that history test this morning, remember?”

“History test?” Bucky said, slowly. “Oh. Yeah, okay, Mrs. Odinson’s class. Right. The-- constitution thing.” Bucky snorted. He had, much to everyone’s shock, including his own, gotten A’s in history that year.

Steve nodded, looking relieved. “Yeah. Maybe they didn’t get you _too_ bad.” He pushed open the door to the nurse’s office.

The nurse looked up, her expectant sympathy turning to something wry and resigned when she saw who was coming through the door. “Mr. Rogers. Mr. Barnes. What is it this time?”

There was a boy sitting on the cot against the wall, his face obscured by a huge icepack. He lowered it as the nurse spoke, though, and Bucky nearly tripped over his own feet in shock. That was _Tony_ , looking desperately young and frail, a painful-looking burn splashed across one cheek. He eyed Steve and Bucky curiously.

“I reckon that Rumlow and his shi-- his friends, jumped me,” Bucky said. “Don’t really remember what happened. Steve saw it. My head aches.” He peered at Tony, not remembering Tony ever getting burned on his face. Literally everywhere else at one point or other, but, “What happened t’ you, dollface?”

Tony laughed at the nickname, then winced and put the coldpack back on his cheek. “Took a soldering iron to the face in shop,” he said. “Pure accident.” He glanced at the nurse, and Bucky knew that it hadn’t been an accident. “Make a cool scar in a couple weeks,” he added, shrugging it off. “Scars are hot, right?”

“Huh,” Bucky said, and he almost reached out to thumb the skin just under the mark. “Nah, you won’t scar. Just remember to keep the wound moist while it heals.” He’d nursed Tony through an extraordinary number of burns. He was prone to falling asleep with a soldering iron in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. 

Or, he used to be. Back when they were first together. Whatever happened to that, Bucky wondered. Tony with his inventions and his workshop and his robots. Everything was always business meetings and mergers now.

“Huh, okay,” Tony said. He watched Bucky with wide, curious eyes as the nurse shooed him into a chair and checked his head for bumps or cuts.

“You don’t seem to have a concussion,” she told Bucky. “But I can call your mother to come pick you up if you’d like.”

“I feel real weird,” Bucky said, “But Ma won’t be home from work ‘til seven. You think I’d be okay to get a Lyf-- er, a cab?”

“You’ll need to call and get her permission,” the nurse said doubtfully. “Transportation changes are supposed to come in on a written note--”

“I can give you a ride home,” Tony said. “There’s nothing in the school policy that stops you from getting a ride from another student, right?”

“Buck,” Steve said cautiously. “Are you sure you want to go home? You can just hang out here and I’ll pick you up on my way out.”

“I think--” Bucky said, slowly. He did not want to stay here while he was trying to get his bearings. His head did ache. “Izzat okay, then? If Tony gives me a ride?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes, that’s permissible,” the nurse said. “I still advise you to call your mother and let her know of your change of plans, however.” She smiled thinly. “Parents do worry.”

Steve reluctantly turned toward the door. “Give me a call later?” he said. “We can do that Chem homework after I get off work?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky groaned. Homework. He’d forgotten about _homework_. And barely functioning internet. Was wikipedia even a thing yet? He couldn’t remember, but he did know he didn’t have a laptop at home to look shit up anymore, either. Or… still? Something. He’d been given his very first computer… as a gift from _Tony_. “Yeah, maybe I shoulda just let Rumlow crack my skull.”

“Nah,” Tony said, sliding off the cot and dropping the ice pack on the nurse’s desk. He offered a hand. “I’m Tony.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said. “Everyone knows who you are.” Which had been true, even before it became true. “Youngest senior in the school, pre-accepted to MIT, it’s kinda, you know, out there.” 

Tony shoved his hand into his pocket, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, I guess. You need to get anything from your locker first? My ride’ll be here any minute.”

Shit. Where was his locker senior year? Hell if he could remember, and even if he could, he wasn’t sure what his combination was anymore. “Nah, I’m fine,” Bucky lied. He wasn’t even close to fine, not really, but he needed to get somewhere home and safe and figure this shit out before he lost his goddamn mind. 

And then, belatedly, since Tony probably didn’t know who Bucky was, because why the hell would he? They had run in very different crowds, all through high school. “I’m Bucky Barnes, by the way.”

That was even less smooth than their original first meeting had been. Bucky hadn’t noticed the scrawny senior until Jim Rhodes -- their left-fielder -- had dragged Tony to one of the first spring practices and made him swing a bat. 

_Once._

That was all it had taken. Tony might not have been a baseball player, but he looked damn good in a pair of workout leggings and a tank top, when he took his ridiculous at bat.

Bucky hadn’t been able to stop staring, and in fact, had nearly fallen down the steps into the dugout, checking out Tony’s ass.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes,” Tony said, his lip curving upward in an expression Bucky had seen a thousand times before, the one that meant his mind was in the gutter. “Come on, then.” He grabbed up a backpack from the floor that looked like it weighed more than Tony did and slung it over his shoulder.

“So, uh, what really happened?” Bucky asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “In your shop class. That’s McCoy’s class, right? The one they call Beast McCoy?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Justin Hammer thinks he knows more than everyone else, and he was waving the soldering iron around while he was pontificating, and someone -- I’m not sure who, but I’m willing to bet it was Vanko -- tripped me and I kind of fell into it.”

“He’s jealous,” Bucky said, immediately. “Ivan’s got a thing for Hammer. An’ Justin’s got a thing for you.” Which made sense, in a sort of horrible kind of way. Tony surely wasn’t going to date Vanko’s crush if Vanko kept making Justin look bad. Not that Justin needed help looking bad; the guy was a dweeb, and not even smart enough to be cute about it.

Tony cocked his head slightly and looked at Bucky. “You actually know those guys?”

Bucky held his finger and thumb apart about two inches. “Little bit. Hammer and I were in homeroom together, what, freshman year?” _Jesus fuck_ , that was forever ago. Not that Justin had ever talked to Bucky; he’d only known that bit of gossip because Tony had told him, when he’d accepted Bucky’s prom invite. Justin was the only other person who’d asked him, and Tony was looking, desperately, for an excuse not to go with him.

And Bucky needed to be careful what he said, knowing the wrong thing, or saying something he knew from the present while in the past… he didn't know if he was dreaming, but it seemed safer to assume it was real. 

“Ah, okay,” Tony said. “God, he’s such a tool. I’m going to catch hell for this.” He pulled a face, then shrugged it off. “What’s your beef with Rumlow? I thought most of you sports jocks were all buddy-buddy.”

Oh. Had that been what Tony thought of him, like one of Rumlow’s cronies? All muscle and no brains? Knowing Rumlow was not to love him, the complete asshole that he was, no parts missing.

“He was shaking down one of the girls for money. He’s got a peeper shot of her, taken outside her window. Steve stepped up, tried to get the picture away from him. They been after him ever since, and three on one’s not fair odds, even if Steve wasn’t so small.”

“Steve, that’s your friend you came in with?” Tony nodded. “I’ve seen him around. Probably the only senior shorter than me.” He kicked at the sidewalk curb. “Good to know you’re not one of them.”

“Rumlow’d cream his jeans if he thought I’d be one of them,” Bucky said. “Him and his pals and their little secret handshake. Hail Hydra and all that bullshit. Not me. I’m gonna get out of this burg. I’m gonna have the best season _of my life_ , I’m going to get scouted and I’m gonna sign on to the majors.”

Tony gave him a broad smile. “Confident. I like that.”

_Jesus._ Bucky almost stumbled. That was exactly what Tony had said when Bucky’d asked him to prom. Although, really, _asked_ wasn’t what he’d done. He’d been dared to ask, and what he’d done was marched up to Tony in front of the entire third bell lunch, handed him a cup of coffee from the campus vendor, and said “You’re going to prom with me, okay?” 

“Whoa, you okay?” Tony put a hand on Bucky’s arm, though if Bucky had actually fallen over, Tony wasn’t nearly big enough to catch him. “You really did get your bell rung, huh?” He glanced down the street. “There’s my ride, just hang on a little longer, ‘kay?”

“I hit the floor, so I assume someone hit me,” Bucky said, which, knowing Rumlow and his cronies, Rollins, Sitwell and Ward, he’d been suckerpunched from behind. He’d have to look in a mirror or something, make sure he didn't have a black eye. He glanced at Tony, as if to reassure Tony that he was okay, and was struck again by how damn _young_ Tony was. He didn’t even have that little scruff of mustache that he’d been trying so hard to cultivate and hadn’t come in well enough to be dignified by the phrase “facial hair” until he was halfway through his second doctorate degree. “You are really beautiful, doll,” Bucky said, which wasn’t anything new. He’d been telling Tony he was beautiful since--

_Fuck._

Since now, he guessed.

Tony’s eyes widened, just a little, and a little hint of blush colored his cheeks in the cold air. “I... Uh, thanks? I mean, you’re really gorgeous, too, I just. No one’s ever said that to me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be the last,” Bucky said. Every reporter and pap in the city had bemoaned the fact that Tony Stark was one of the top ten most gorgeous men in the world, and he couldn’t even be on the _Most Eligible Bachelor’s_ list, because they’d gotten married so damn young.

Literally. Christine Everhart had once smacked Bucky with a rolled up copy of _Vanity Fair_ for taking him off the market so early. Well, maybe Tony could have that, now. “Top ten most eligible bachelors, before you even get your first degree, I bet,” Bucky said.

Tony laughed, still blushing. Bucky had almost forgotten the way Tony had blushed and looked away, at first, like he couldn’t quite believe Bucky actually meant those compliments. “You dream big,” Tony said. “That’s nice.”

The car that pulled up for them was nice, a ritzy sedan, but it wasn’t a Tony Stark car. Not by a long shot. “Huh,” Bucky said. “I guess I was expecting an Audi or a Shelby Cobra or something.”

This time, the look Tony shot him was admiring. “Good taste,” he said. “I want an Audi, when I get my license.”

The driver got out of the car and came around to open the door for Tony, and Bucky got another shock: Jarvis, looking younger than Bucky remembered him, barely any salt in his hair yet, his face not so lined as in Bucky’s memories. “Who’s your friend, Master Anthony?”

“ _Jarvis_ ,” Bucky said, no breath behind the word at all. Tony’s only real family, they’d both depended on the butler so much those first few years, and he’d become as close with Bucky as any uncle could have been. Tony had been inconsolable for weeks after Jarvis died, and Bucky hadn’t been much better off.

It took everything in him, strength he didn’t even know he had, not to hug the man.

“This is Bucky Barnes, my new friend,” Tony said, blithely unaware of Bucky’s inner crisis. “Bucky, this is Jarvis. He works for my dad.”

Oh, bloody fuck. Howard Stark was _still alive_. “And you haven’t killed your employer yet,” Bucky said. “All the murder mysteries are letting us down here. The butler did it.”

“In the grand tradition of murderous butlers,” Jarvis said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “it is customary to wait until the young, malleable heir is of age to inherit, first.”

Tony laughed. “Jay, I told Bucky we’d drop him off at his place on the way home.”

“Certainly, young sir,” Jarvis said, opening the car door for them. “If you’ll give me your direction, Mr. Barnes, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Bucky rattled off his home address; if he lived to be a hundred years old, he’d never forget that ratty little apartment where he and his sisters and his mom all crammed into a two bedroom, rent-controlled apartment. Bucky slept on the sofa, since he was the only man in the house, George Barnes having run off with the office secretary at his job some seven years ago or so, leaving Ma with another baby on the way.

“Certainly,” Jarvis said, as if he already knew the address. He held the door while Tony and Bucky climbed in, and then went back to the driver’s seat and started the car.

“If I may be so bold, young sir,” Jarvis said as they pulled away from the school, “it’s nice to see you making friends.”

Tony slumped lower in his seat. “I’m not five anymore, Jarvis, I don’t need you to arrange a playdate for me.”

“Aw,” Bucky said. “And here I was looking forward to juice boxes and a rousing game of Go Fish, before Jarvis here tries to teach us to play Whist.” They’d actually eventually given in to Jarvis and Ana’s desire for Whist partners and it had been one of the family activities for a number of years.

“I do rather enjoy a game of Whist,” Jarvis said. “Should the desire to learn ever overcome you, consider me at your disposal.”

Tony rolled his eyes again. “No one wants to play your old British grandpa games, Jarvis,” he said.

“I know how to play Whist,” Bucky said. “And cribbage, too. You can count up to fifteen, can’t you, Tony?”

Tony gave him a flat look. “If I take one sock off, I might be able to manage it,” he said sarcastically. “Do you actually know how to play? Oh my god, that’s hilarious.”

“Perhaps you could invite Mr. Barnes over sometime,” Jarvis suggested, “and he and Ana and I could teach you.”

Oh… Ana would make cookies, those little Hungarian dainties, that Bucky hadn’t had in _ages_ , because Ana guarded her recipes with somewhat more ferocity than a dragon guarded its treasure. “I’d love to,” Bucky said, utterly sincere.

“Are you actually being serious right now?” Tony was laughing. “Oh my god, I’m going to be overrun by the Old People Brigade.” But he wasn’t saying _no_ , either.

“Some day, you too, will get old,” Bucky said. It would happen sooner than anyone ever expected, and while Bucky often _felt old_ , he also didn’t feel much different, either. He was the same Bucky Barnes that he’d always been. With the same wants and needs, the same core of Bucky in the middle. Just the outside had changed. A little dinged up, little grey around the edges. A little slower than he used to be.

He glanced at Tony again, who was practically vibrating in his seat in mixed amusement and nervous energy. _What happened to you?_ Bucky wondered again. _Where did this boy go?_

Because Bucky had been there the whole time and had never noticed Tony leaving until he was gone, leaving Mr. Stark, CEO of Stark Industries behind. Winner of the Apogee award. Time Magazine’s Person of the Year.

“Nah, not me,” Tony said cheerfully. “But we’ll have a playdate, and you can teach me your old-person games.”

“Yeah, okay, sounds like fun,” Bucky said. “Thanks for the lift, Mr. Jarvis, you can just drop me off here.” They were still around the corner from his building, but he felt the same old shame. Didn’t want Tony to see where he came from. He’d never invited Tony back to his place, not _ever_. All the messing around they’d done was at Tony’s place and the backseat of Bucky’s car. Which he didn’t own yet. It was (would be?) a birthday present from his uncle Frederick, who lived in Boston. Huh.

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis pulled over at the corner and got out of the car to come around and open the door.

Tony yanked open his backpack and tore a corner off a sheet of notebook paper, and scrawled a number on it. “Here,” he said, not quite looking directly at Bucky as he handed it over, that blush staining his cheeks again. “You know, for that playdate.”

_I forgot,_ Bucky thought, marveling. _I forgot this version of you._

“Sure,” Bucky said. “I’ll. I’ll do that. Um--” He didn’t know how to ask. “Is there any time that’s bad for me to call?” Because Howard. Howard had been a bad damn time for Bucky to call. But Bucky wasn’t supposed to know that. Wasn’t supposed to know about how Howard was. Not yet.

“Uh, earlier in the evening is probably better,” Tony said. “Phone gets tied up a lot after Dad gets home. He keeps saying he’s going to get me my own line, but...” He shrugged. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

_God, I miss my cellphone already_ , Bucky thought. He leaned in, as if he was going to kiss Tony goodbye, a habit of so many years that it was muscle memory. Then stopped. Brushed his thumb just under Tony’s burn. “Get a hydrocolloid dressing, you can pick it up at the corner drugstore, an’ you can wear concealer right over it, won’t get your burn infected, and no one will see it.” 

Tony lifted his hand to his cheek, fingers touching right where Bucky’s thumb had been. “I... Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said. He looked just a little dazed. “I’ll do that. I’ll, uh, see you around school, yeah?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. “Thanks for the lift.”

He stood on the sidewalk, pointedly waiting until Jarvis drove away before trudging down his street, remembering to step up at the point where the sidewalk was badly misaligned. The steps to his building looked the same, felt completely familiar under those ancient second-hand sneakers he was wearing, the soles paper thin and repaired with rubber cement about four times now. Bucky always knew when it was raining.

He’d be the first one home, at least. The babysitter kept Rachel until three, when Becca would get home from middle school. Ma would be home at seven, if she wasn’t working overtime, and not ‘til eleven if she was.

Bucky would get dinner ready for the girls, and see to all their homework and baths.

God, he hadn’t seen Rachel in _months;_ she was abroad these days, having finished her degree in record time, twenty two years old when she graduated med school and joined Doctors Without Borders. She was seldom in the States at all. And now she’d be back, all of six years old and with her front teeth missing.

Walking up the steps felt like a prolonged bout of deja vu, the slightly damp smell of the air triggering something in his backbrain. The next door neighbor, Mrs. Cherry, was fumbling out her keys as he came up the steps, several string bags of groceries on the floor at her feet.

“Don’t let the cat out,” Bucky reminded her, because she always did. That cat was determined to live in the hallway.

He hoped to Christ he’d remembered his own key, but yeah, there it was, shoved down in the bottom of his pocket along with a handful of change and a condom he’d never used, but he was still hopeful. Or, he had been. Jesus Christ, he’d been a raging ball of hormones as a teenager, desperate to get rid of the virginity he saw as a burden.

He’d finally given that gift to Tony in the backseat of his car.

God, Tony had been sweet.

Bucky pushed into the apartment; the stale smell of old cooking and dust making his nose wrinkle.

Home sweet home, he thought.

He threw himself down on the sofa, noting how the springs creaked. Yeah, it would take all of two days for his back to be completely frigged up on that thing. 

He scrubbed his face with both hands, unable to stop thinking about Tony. Tony Tony Tony, it went through his brain like one of those stupid songs on the radio that you couldn’t stop singing the refrain.

He hadn’t meant to have a second chance and fall back in love with his damn husband.

He probably shouldn’t call.

He wouldn’t call.

Just ignore it. Tony would think Bucky’d had a head injury, and he’d go back to his own little world and never think about him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Ma fussed a bit, because of course she did. Getting involved with bullies, even the worst sort, was bad. If Bucky got hurt, they wouldn’t be able to afford to take him to the doctor, and she counted on him to take his responsibilities.

By the end of dinner, instead of being proud of what he’d done, or feeling brave for getting involved, instead, Bucky rather felt like he’d betrayed everything his Ma tried to teach him about getting along in the world. Nothing was answered with violence.

After the dishes had been washed and dried and put away, Becca settled at the kitchen table with her homework. Rachel, being six, only had to do fifteen minutes of reading for her homework, and had done that while Ma had been making dinner, so she went back to the room she shared with Becca to play.

Ma glanced at Bucky sharply. “Where’s your homework?”

"Oh, crap," Bucky said, all but smacking himself in the head and swearing in front of his Ma, for Christ's sake. When had his mouth gotten so foul, really? "Steve Rogers-- I needed to call him about Chem. He's got my stuff from school, too." That was a lie. Bucky had no idea where his backpack was, but he could worry about that tomorrow. "I'll do that. Probably need to go over to his place and work, if that's okay. With Steve's asthma, he shouldn't be walking around at night."

Ma gave him a suspicious stare, but finally nodded. “Be home by eleven,” she said. “And don’t forget I need you to take Rachel to the sitter’s before school tomorrow. I have to go in early for a staff meeting.”

"Not a problem, Ma," Bucky said. "You want me to do groceries tomorrow after school? I know you hate going to Mick's." The grocery store closed at 9, which meant Ma had to do a lot of shopping at Mick’s Bodega, which was open late but three times the expense.

“Would you? I’ll write up a list and leave it on the table for you.” She paused. “Are you buttering me up for something, Jimmy?”

"No, Ma," Bucky said. Had he resented this so much? Helping out? He had. He'd been a right little shithead about it. "Thought maybe I oughta help more, bein' so close to an adult. You take on so much for us "

Ma reached out and ruffled his hair. “You’re a good boy, Jimmy. Lord knows, I wish I could do more for you and your sisters. Go on, go see your friend, then.”

Bucky leaned over and kissed his Ma's cheek. "Thanks, Ma. Love you to the moon and back."

He grabbed the house line and punched in Steve's number. These days, he barely remembered anyone's number -- that was what a contact list was for, after all -- but his fingers still knew the shape of Steve's digits.

"Mrs. Rogers, yeah, hi. Bucky Barnes. Z'it a good time for me to come over and do chem with Steve? You can just holler at him, I don't mind."

Bucky got that arranged, kissed Becca where she was doing her math at the kitchen table and got another stare. Becca made a show of wiping his kiss off. _Love you, little sister,_ Bucky thought, _whether you like it or not._ He was down the block to Steve's in a few more minutes, even smaller and grungier than Bucky's place.

Mrs. Rogers… did not look well, no matter what Bucky said by way of polite greeting. She looked old and frail, and that cough was nerve wracking.

She managed a wan smile for him, though. “Bucky, come on in. Steve just got home from work; he’s in his room. You need a drink or a snack?”

"No thanks, Mrs. Rogers," Bucky said. "I just had dinner." And he didn't think she'd let him have an after dinner glass of wine. "Hey Stevie, how was work?"

Steve looked up from where he was sprawled on his bed, textbooks scattered around him. His hair looked like an untidy bird’s nest from where he’d been pushing his fingers through it in frustration. “Fine. The usual, you know. Almost got enough saved up, now.” He sat up and cleared space for Bucky on one side of the narrow bed. “How’s your head?”

"Ringing," Bucky told him, taking the seat across from him. "An' I can't remember shi-- stuff. What are we even doing in chem? Have I been asleep all semester?"

He pulled the book away from Steve despite his complaints. Oh. Oh, this was way easy, this was kiddie science. Tony worked with dissolved gas analysis all the time. It was almost kitchen chem.

"Huh. Guess I do use some of this stuff in my real life," he muttered.

“Ugh, it’s all bullshit,” Steve grumbled, flopping back onto his pillows. “School is so pointless. I can’t wait until I can just... get out of here, you know?”

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, "open roads, doing whatever you want. Ain't like you don't have responsibility as an adult, but you get to pick it. Bet it'll be nice, you and your bike and your paints and your camera."

That was what Steve had done, and he was happy and he’d turned out fucking perfect and gorgeous. "I guess you're not thinking about a, you know, girlfriend. Or a boyfriend maybe. I ain't judging."

Steve grunted a little. “Whichever,” he said carelessly. “It’s not the equipment so much as the person, you know? For the right person...” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. No one wants to date Shrimpy Steve.”

Bucky scrawled out the formula and started plugging in numbers. "There might be some right person in your life," Bucky said, super casual. He'd thought it was teenager shit and inexperience that had made him nervous and stupid in high school, but maybe it was more than that. His heart was already going a mile a minute just starting with that lame ass noncommittal opening. He could feel it in his forehead and his throat and his wrists.

 _Make him say it first, don't put yourself out there,_ all his nerves were screaming. Which wasn't really fair to Steve, who had no benefit of the long view at this point. He hadn't lived through these moments before.

"I mean I--" he started just as Steve responded with--

“I’ve always thought--” They both broke off, laughing a little. “No, go on,” Steve said.

"You don't give yourself enough credit for being _interesting_ ," Bucky said. "I mean Brock's good looking an' all, but he's stupid and he's _mean_. An' selfish. Who wants that, long term?"

Steve snorted. “So I rank above pond scum, nice to know. Who the hell cares about _interesting?_ Maybe when we’re thirty--” He said it as if it were a distant, barely-conceivable future. “--but not now.”

Bucky put the chem book aside. "I…" Jesus, why was this so hard? He _knew_. Steve had fucking told him. "I… I care about interesting. I mean, I'm doing homework with you. Not… Brock or Natasha Romanoff or you know, Tony Stark."

The two best looking, most popular people in the school and the smartest (and Tony was beautiful in his disaster-potential, but probably no one else really saw it right now because Tony was also sarcastic as fuck and smarter than everyone else put together and who needed that when you were struggling with French homework?). And Bucky was, in fact, spending time with _Steve_. That had to mean something, right?

Steve stared at him. “Buck, are you-- I mean, what are you--” He bit his lip, and it was actually damned cute, the way his blush started at his neck and crawled up his cheeks and down into the collar of his tee. He took a deep breath, and his eyes, when they met Bucky’s, were the bright blue of a crisp autumn sky. “Are you saying you’d date me?”

 _We’ll set up that playdate_ , Tony’s voice whispered.

 _Look at him,_ Bucky argued. _He actually thinks… he thinks you’re a real catch._

“I am,” Bucky said. “Mean, if that’s somethin’ you wanted t’ try on for size. I mean, we’re friends, right, an’ I like you, an’-- I mean, I ain’t… Yes. Yes I would. Steve, if you’d want to go out on a date. With me. I would like that.”

_God, you’re fucking uncool, Barnes, even now._

Steve didn’t seem to care, or even really notice. He broke into a wide, happy smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “Yeah? I mean, yeah. Yeah, I’d like to do that.”

“Not, mind you,” Bucky said, now that it was settled, sort of, except it really felt like someone had packed his guts up and shipped them out to sea, “it’s much of a _date_. If you don’t get fries, I might be able to afford to take us both to McDonalds.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. “I mean, I can chip in some, we can go dutch? Or, you know, whatever. The museum’s free on Tuesdays, or...” He cut himself off. “I know how it is.”

“Yeah, we can-- figure something out,” Bucky said. “Not right now, you gotta finish this Chem or we’ll both be in the suds. Come on over here, an’ show me how you’d set this problem up.” Steve was really close, suddenly, and Bucky could see every freckle on his nose, smell the plain, dollar store detergent on his clothes.

 _I am going to kiss Steve Rogers_ , he thought.

Which caused just enough of a shock in his system -- he’d kissed all of two boys before he kissed Tony that first time, and no one else since -- that he did not, in fact, go for it, and the moment passed as Steve started scowling at his homework again.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, and then Steve said, “Are you... Are you sure? ‘Cause you were getting your flirt on with Tony Stark, earlier, and it looked to me like he was flirting back, an’ I don’t want to be... in the middle of, you know, _drama_.”

God, teenage drama. “I thought, maybe I’m wrong about this, but I thought-- dating was supposed to be… about seeing? About seeing if a thing could exist. I mean, I like you, I think you’re cool and interesting and funny, and you see things so clear, it just blows my mind. Like, your art, it just, even when I don’t know what I’m looking at, it… it’s like being cut open and bleeding and it’s beautiful. But who knows, maybe you snore, or you squeeze your toothpaste tube in the middle or something else annoying. I already know you talk with your mouth full, but so does like everyone else I know. What I’m saying is, this don’t gotta be _drama_. It can just be… seeing.”

“Seeing,” Steve repeated. “Okay. Right. Yeah. No drama. Even if it doesn’t work, best friends forever, right?”

“You’re the best friend I ever had,” Bucky said, honestly. “Maybe the only one… who really sees me. Me for me. And you like me anyway. Which might say some questionable shit about your taste, but-- hey, I… can I kiss you?”

He about swallowed his tongue immediately after saying it, because Jesus, talk about seeing and best friends, and everything and no drama. And here Bucky was, jumping the gun and quite possibly ruining the moment, and it was even likely that Steve wouldn’t want to, or that he was too nervous or too shy, or--

Steve sucked in a breath and looked up at Bucky with those clear blue eyes. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, and he shifted a little, leaning toward Steve, and then he couldn’t help but smile, because Steve looked utterly enraptured and completely terrified at the same time. “Don’t worry, you won’t do it wrong.” Because that had been what Bucky thought the first time he went to kiss someone, that it would be _wrong_ and _weird_ and they’d hate him forever and tell everyone about how bad it was later.

Because high school, he guessed. There was just something about it. He cupped the side of Steve’s face, thumb going right in front of his ear to hold him steady. “Tip your head a-- not that way, I’m goin’ that way. The other way. So our noses don’t bump.”

“This is more complicated than they make it look in movies,” Steve muttered, but his hand came up to grip Bucky’s shoulder.

“In movies, they rehearse,” Bucky told him. “An’ they got a script an’ everything. Much easier in the movies. Here, I gotcha.”

Steve’s eyes were huge, and blue, and his grip on Bucky’s arm was really tight. Nerves. Not that Bucky wasn’t nervous. He shouldn’t have been, he kept thinking he was great, he was smooth, he was an adult, goddammit, and kissing someone shouldn’t be this difficult-- there, right-- Bucky tipped his head and moved in, until there was barely room for a piece of paper between his mouth and Steve’s--

“Bucky!” Mrs. Rogers’ voice floated down the hall. “If you’re gonna be home before curfew, you boys need to pack it up for the night!”

“Cripes!” Bucky hissed, jerking backward and nearly clipping Steve’s chin in his haste to back away, because _parents_. And oh, Christ, he’d forgotten this part of sneaking around as a teenager. The almost getting caught rush of adrenaline that made everything seem too sharp and bright. “Yeah, coming, Mrs. Rogers, just gettin’ my stuff together.”

Steve managed to look somehow both disappointed and relieved. “Next time, maybe?” he said, dragging the pile of textbooks and notebooks into a rough stack and dumping them onto the floor next to the bed.

“Yeah, okay, don’t want her t’ come in here,” Bucky said, telling himself he was decidedly not relieved, that he was disappointed, that he _wanted_ to kiss Steve and it wasn’t goddamn cheating on Tony Stark because he wasn’t dating Tony Stark and he had never dated Tony, and if he did things right and made the most of his second chance, he might, in fact, _never_ date Tony Stark.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’ll... see you at school tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, we’ll-- meet me at my locker at first bell,” Bucky said, because that would be a great way to figure out where his damn locker _was_. He was going to swoop in and steal that kiss, but Steve was already turned away, and so the opportunity was lost. “Night, Stevie.”


	4. Chapter 4

He vaguely remembered passing by Carter’s classroom every day, so his locker had to be around here somewhere. Bucky didn’t see a sign of Steve anywhere, though, so maybe he was wrong. 

“Mrs. Carter,” he said, waving to her. She had a daughter who was in her freshman year, Bucky thought, and a niece about the same age. For being completely different looking, Sharon and Peggy Carter were as alike as siblings. Fond, too. You didn’t mess with the Carter girls and expect to survive it.

Now, where was--

“James,” someone said, carefully neutral.

Bucky turned, his heart sinking into his stomach. Over the years, Bucky had decided that his memories of Natasha Romanoff were colored by her reputation at school as someone to be afraid of. She was flawlessly beautiful, just smart enough to pass her classes without studying, and always apparently one step ahead of the teachers. She was, he’d decided years later, probably actually as normal and unthreatening as any other high school girl.

Bucky had been wrong about that.

Natasha, in all her youthful glory, was _terrifying_.

And she hadn’t said anything more than his name.

“Nat,” Bucky said, leaning against the bank of lockers. “What’s up?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Natasha said, coming to stand in front of him. “What, exactly, do you think you are doing?”

“I think I’m getting my stuff out of my locker and waiting for Steve,” he said. He thought this was his locker; he remembered standing here a lot, for whatever reason. Dammit, what had his combination been? He turned the dial through his standard lock combo, the one he’d used for years, and as his banking PIN for even more years until Tony had a fit about security and made him get a thumbprint bio reader.

“Probably going to fail my history test from yesterday, so that’s gonna suck, and I have peanut butter and jelly again for lunch and the only thing worse than that is the government cheese sandwich I can get with my meal chit.”

“Mmhm,” Natasha agreed, watching him fruitlessly yank at the lock. “And you picked a fight with the captain of your baseball team yesterday, then flirted rather shamelessly with Tony Stark before letting him give you a ride home, and now I hear that you’re dating Steve Rogers. Also--” She fiddled with the locker two down from Bucky’s and pulled it open seamlessly. “--you appear to have forgotten where your locker is.”

“I got hit in the head _really_ hard yesterday,” Bucky protested, but he started rummaging through the locker nonetheless. “And I’m not… dating Steve, I’m going on _a date_ with Steve. There’s a difference. How do you even know that? I haven’t told anyone-- did Steve tell you that? Are you _following_ me around, Natasha? Why? I’m not that interesting.”

“But becoming more interesting by the hour,” Natasha said with a secretive smile. The warning bell rang, and she patted him on the shoulder. “Eat lunch with me today. You can tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I can’t think of a single reason why I’d want to do that,” Bucky said. At least he’d had the foresight at some point in his high school career to write his damn schedule down and post it inside his locker door. Christ, he wished he had his goddamn cell phone, how was he supposed to live without it? He wanted to take a picture of the schedule. Scowling, he tried to memorize the first two lines; he could come back after second bell. 

“Because the alternative is probably getting jumped in the bathroom by Captain Rumlow and his friends? Give it some thought.” She patted him again and strolled off as if she had all the time in the world to get to class.

“That girl is so weird,” Bucky said. He grabbed the books he needed for the next two classes, nudged his locker closed, and tried to remember where he was going.

He was still late for French.

Which did not make Mssr. Dernier at all happy with him. Bucky slouched over to the empty seat and pretended really hard to care.

On the other hand, over the last two decades, he’d gotten fluent in French. Stark Industries was an _international company_. Bucky didn’t quite allow himself a smirk, and then made his excuses. He’d been hit in the head yesterday, he overslept, and he was having trouble with his eyes going crossed. In flawlessly accurate, absolutely accent perfect, French.

Mssr. Dernier gave him a hard look, then huffed. “ _You have been practicing; good_ ,” he responded, and turned back to the conjugation of verbs on the board.

He could practically sleep through French. In fact, it was almost easier; when addressed in French, he answered in it, and he didn’t really have to think about it much. When he was supposed to get up and write things on the board, that was harder.

First off, he was left handed, except he’d lost his left arm almost twenty years ago-- or not until five months from now. So weird. And he wasn’t used to writing left-handed anymore. On the plus side, no one seemed to expect his handwriting to be anything other than _terrible_.

Finally, the bell rang. Mssr. Dernier called out the homework as everyone was gathering their notebooks and stuffing them back into their bookbags, and Bucky let the general tide of movement carry him back out into the halls.

Where he came face-to-face with Clint Barton. “Hey, man. Nat told me to remind you about lunch,” he said, dodging around Bucky to put his good ear on Bucky’s side.

“Why does she care so much about who I might or might not be dating?” Bucky wondered. “Did she tell you? What did she say?”

Jesus. Drama. It was infectious, Bucky decided.

Clint shrugged. “It’s Nat; who knows why she cares about anything? But she did say you might be tapping Rogers.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bucky said. “No, no, I’m not-- we haven’t-- _Jesus Christ_.”

Clint cackled at Bucky’s flailing. “Yeah, okay, maybe that wasn’t _exactly_ the word she used. But you should see your face, man!”

“You _suck_ , you know that, Barton? Like, I don’t know why anyone puts up with you,” Bucky said, but he was teasing. Clint had been amazing back in school, if incredibly stupid sometimes, and apt to spill things down his shirt, walk into walls, fall down stairs, and generally be a flaming trash can of a human being.

“Because I make the best coffee,” Clint said confidently. They reached a branching of the halls and Clint veered away. “See you later!”

"Not if I see you first," Bucky yelled. Clint probably didn't hear him, but he got a few laughs from fellow students.

Coffee. God he could kill someone for a good cup. Ma had an old canister of 8 o'clock in the pantry, but the best Bucky could say about that was it wasn't mud.

Probably not, at any rate.

Still thinking about coffee, he veered into the wrong room, two doors down from his chem class, following his nose, to find Tony and Bruce Banner brewing some sort of coffee with a vacuum beaker set.

"Oh my God," Bucky said. "Please tell me you washed that before you made coffee in it and then tell me I can have some."

“Oh, Bucky!” Tony looked up and broke out into a wide grin. “Hi! Yeah, of course everything’s clean, it just came out of the sterilizer.” He jerked a thumb toward the back room, where the science department kept supplies and gadgets too dangerous or delicate to be allowed near students. He poured some of the coffee into a beaker and offered it to him. “Make sure you return the glassware,” he added.

Bucky inhaled over the glass, breathing in the perfect aroma. "Costa Rican? Interesting choice." It was a lighter roast, so he took a sip, no milk, no sweetener needed. "Oh that's smooth. You get that effect from the vacuum brew?"

“Yes, it’s an interesting effect of the way the air interacts with the acids in the beans,” Bruce said.

“Oh my god, you speak _coffee_ ,” Tony breathed, staring at Bucky as if he were some kind of deity specifically sent to bless Tony. “You should, uh, I mean, we usually have a batch brewing before classes start, if you want to drop by.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Tony. “Really? Because when Reed wanted some just yesterday, you--”

“Reed does not _appreciate_ coffee,” Tony sniffed. “He can subsist on that terrible over-roasted Starbucks swill.”

"Mr. Fantastic is _totally_ basic," Bucky agreed. "If he wanted a cup of ice cream, what did he buy coffee for?"

Tony made Vanna White arms in Bucky’s direction. “You _see?_ ” He turned a beaming smile on Bucky. “Before class,” he repeated. “Any time.”

"You are the best and I owe you my life and sanity," Bucky said, then yelped as the second bell rang. He was going to be late to every class today, apparently. 

But at least he had coffee.

It raised a few eyebrows when he took his seat, drinking out of a beaker, but no one said anything. He scrambled his notes out and then gave Steve a glare. "You were supposed to meet me this morning and you sic _Romanoff_ on me instead? What did you _say_ to her?"

“Nothing!” Steve ducked his head. “She asked me why I looked so happy and I said I had a date, and then she walked off!”

"Yeah, well. It's all over school now," Bucky said, trying to keep his voice down. "Clint asked me if we were doing the nasty. He wasn't quiet about it, neither."

“Oh my god,” Steve whimpered, putting his hands over his face. “I swear I didn’t say anything!”

_Drama_. It was high school. No one actually did have anything better to do… or talk about. All of it was the most interesting thing that ever happened. Ever. "Yeah, okay. I know she's sneaky. I'm having lunch with her today. Maybe I can talk her into spin control."

Steve just stared at him, and Bucky realized what he'd said. Public image relations were probably not a high concern to anyone Steve's age. More something Bucky had learned as an adult, married to one of the most famous men in the world. "Um. Make it not look so bad. She's good at rumor control. Mostly because everyone is terrified of her."

“I guess,” Steve said. “I mean, it’s not... not _that_ bad, right? I mean, stuff always gets blown way up. If you listen to gossip, everyone in this building has done it with everyone else in the building at least twice, so...” He bit his lip. “Unless you were trying to fly under the radar.”

"Makes things more complicated," Bucky said. "You're the one who said no drama. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable."

“It’ll be fine,” Steve said, setting his jaw stubbornly. 

"Okay," Bucky said. "Still gotta eat lunch with Romanoff, if I value my balls."

Of course that was the bit that Miss Grey overheard. "Mr. Barnes," she said acidly, "I can assure you that no one in this class is concerned with that bit of your anatomy. If you insist on being crude, rather than paying attention, you're welcome to pay Principal Fury a visit."

"Sorry, ma'am," Bucky said, neck heating as the class giggled at him.

***

The only upside to having lunch with Natasha was that she didn’t so much _have lunch_ as _hold court_ , presiding over a table of which she was the undisputed mistress, and no one -- _no one_ \-- sat at Natasha’s table unless they were invited to do so.

Which meant that when Bucky walked into the cafeteria and Natasha smiled at him welcomingly, no one else was sitting at the table. So no one else was going to overhear... whatever it was he was going to tell her.

“Have a seat,” Natasha said, all charm and courtesy now that Bucky had bent to her will. “I don’t want my pudding cup; you can have it.” She pushed it over to him. Chocolate. Nice.

“Thanks,” he said, and pulled out his shabby, ancient lunch tin. It had been his father’s, and his grandfather’s before that. It contained a somewhat less shabby thermos of Grate Value Sweetened Grape Drink, a peanut butter sandwich, two discount chocolate chip cookies, and a pack of twenty-five cent chips. How had he managed to play baseball on a diet of _this_? “So, lemme have it. You wanna play twenty questions, or two truths and a lie?”

She cocked her head, studying him. “You are different,” she said. “Out of place. I do not know how to begin asking questions. So go on, then, tell me your two truths and a lie.”

Bucky chewed his sandwich for long moments, planning them out carefully. “I met Tony Stark yesterday,” he said. “I found out that Steve Rogers is in love with me. I don’t believe in magic.” 

She sat back in her chair, brow furrowing just the slightest bit as she worked through them. “What sort of magic do you believe in?” she asked after a moment.

“You have no idea how bad I’m tempted to tell you the truth,” Bucky confessed. “You’ll never believe me, an’ I don’t think you’re the type to report me to Fury as being crazy or on drugs.” He looked away for a long moment. “Wishes. Time travel. Second chances. None of that stuff could possibly be real, could it? I’m just having some sort of lucid dream, or a hallucination or something, right?”

An impish smile crossed Natasha’s features. “Shall I pinch you?” More seriously, she leaned forward again. “I won’t tell Fury on you,” she agreed. “Tell me your story.”

“Let’s play pretend,” Bucky said. “That you could live out most of your life, see everything that’s going to happen, know who you are and what you become. And nothing’s what you want it to be. And someone says… how about a second chance? Go back, knowing what you know now, do it over again. Would you go?”

“Why not?” she said. “If nothing is as I want it to be, then trying again could not do worse, could it?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said. He looked down at his hands. Hands, plural. He was never going to take that for granted again. “Most people would have said my life turned out like some sort of miraculous dream, call me crazy for not being happy. It’s a paradox, you know. How it’s easy to be alone and not be lonely, but it’s the worst thing in the world to be _alone_ in a room with someone you love.”

She nodded slowly. “And you were offered this second chance?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I don’t think I realized what I was askin’ for, though. Look at this happy horseshit. I’m back in goddamn high school. I still have _nightmares_ about this place, and now it’s all happening again. I’m walking around school with no idea where my next class is, or if I have a test that I didn’t study for. It’s like a bad dream.”

“Ah, that is what is different,” Natasha murmured. “And how old are you, really? Before this second chance was given?”

“Thirty-seven,” Bucky said. “It’s… just before Christmas, we’re having our twentieth class reunion. I saw Steve. For the first time-- well, you don’t even know, do you? He _left_. He just left. Dropped out of school after his mo-- maybe I shouldn’t say that. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You can’t tell Steve, Nat, I’m serious. He doesn’t need to find out _like that_.”

She spread her hands. “What would I tell him? That a time traveller whispered fortunes to me? Who would believe me?” She patted his arm. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. What is this future that makes you so unhappy?”

“I got married,” Bucky said. “And I was in an accident. I won’t ever play baseball again. All I did was get married. I didn’t go to school, I… I’m _nothing_. No one. Just someone’s husband. And, uh, they take me for granted. I can’t remember the last time he actually _looked_ at me.” 

Well, _yesterday_. And this morning. Tony had looked at him like Bucky personally hung the moon, just for him. But… not in a long time before that. The older Tony… he hadn’t just stopped, but bit by bit, the two of them moved into such different orbits that Tony could _be_ on the goddamn moon these days. “I don’t make him happy. He doesn't make me happy. Not anymore.”

“Ah, that is sad,” Natasha agreed solemnly. “But you were happy together once. What changed?”

“Life,” Bucky said. “Life happens. I don’t know. We just went wrong somewhere. I can’t fix that. Maybe it’s better I don’t break it in the first place. He won’t miss what he never had, will he?”

“You plan to not marry him, in this second chance?” Natasha picked up a somewhat limp french fry and dragged it through ketchup. “You will, perhaps, marry Steve Rogers instead?”

“Why not?” Bucky asked, like it was a demand. “Why not do something completely crazy? Steve-- he went off, he had epic adventures, he’s a published photographer and artist in my time, he has everything he wants. And I… just want to share that with someone.”

“So you feel your husband does not have everything he wants?”

“He wants _Hope_ ,” Bucky said, bitterly. It sounded like something that it wasn’t, or maybe it was. Maybe Tony lost hope, somewhere. That giddy optimism, that… the futurist, someone had described him once, a rather catchy soundbyte. He made love to the idea that the future could be better, and maybe when it wasn’t, he just… lost himself somewhere. But he lost himself, and Bucky couldn’t find him.

“Don’t we all?” Natasha said lightly. But her eyes were serious, and very bright and green as she studied his expression, a shade that put him in mind of Doctor Strange’s tie tack. “You still love him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Kinda pathetic, ain’t it?”

She shook her head. “No. It means you _have_ hope, even if he does not. Instead of trying to run away, maybe you should try to figure out what went wrong.”

“We were too young,” Bucky said. “I mean, I don’t… I don’t want to marry Steve, I don’t… I don’t know that I want to get married _at all_. Bucky Barnes got married, the end. Fuck that. Fuck it. All of it, it’s garbage and I don’t want it. I want… I want to get scouted, I want to go to the majors, I want to sign a fucking baseball card and I don’t see why I can’t have that.”

“Why not, indeed?” Natasha leaned back again. “Perhaps your husband has dreams unrealized, as well. Maybe it would do you both good not to marry. Or to wait, and marry later.” She shook her head. “You are going to break someone’s heart if you chase Steve, though,” she warned.

“I’m not chasing Steve,” Bucky said. “I just want to see… maybe it can be different. Maybe _I_ … can be different.” He dipped one of his terrible cookies in the pudding cup. “You didn’t ask about you-- you don’t want to know?”

She looked startled, almost, a little uneasy. “I... know what my plans are,” she said. “Perhaps best not to know whether they are successful.”

Bucky finished off his pudding and downed the last swallow of generic grape kool-aid. “We saw you,” Bucky said. “You were _incredible_.” And, feeling like he’d somehow scored points, he decided that was the best exit line he could hope for. He got up, dumped his tray, and headed off to calculus.


	5. Chapter 5

The painting hadn’t changed any in the last six times Bucky had looked at it. He knew, because he kept looking.

And he kept looking because what Steve did at an art museum and what every other normal person did in an art museum were as different as Stark Tech and Microsoft. 

Most people looked at a painting, commented on it, studied for a few minutes it if they liked it, and then _moved on_.

Steve had been staring at the same damn painting -- _The Locks at Edenderry_ by John Luke, on special loan -- for the last ninety minutes. At least.

It wasn’t a bad painting. The colors were nice. The sky was so coated in contrails that it looked like someone had baked an apple pie crust over it. The reflections were interesting. There was a couple on a date, a guy with his cat, another guy, staring at some swans.

But it wasn’t ninety goddamn minutes of interesting.

And they were on a date, so Bucky didn’t exactly feel comfortable walking around the rest of the museum on his own. 

“So, you like this artist, I guess,” Bucky ventured, trying to make conversation, at least, if he was stuck looking at this one painting, and the other four in the same room, although Steve hadn’t paid any attention to the others, dismissing one of them with a “sophomoric effort at best.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Look at that use of color, of _movement_.” He took several steps and Bucky began to hope they’d be able to finally move on, but Steve stopped again. Apparently he’d just wanted to study the painting from another angle. Christ.

Bucky almost compared it to one of Tony’s Jackson Pollock pieces, but didn’t. Pepper Potts hadn’t liked it when Bucky joked about Pollock’s contrived style and reliance on art critic Greenburg, rather than any iota of talent. And then he’d have to explain why he knew any of that. Tony had still bought the damn painting, probably more because it was funny to watch Pepper and Bucky argue about it than any other reason.

He sighed.

Steve didn’t notice.

Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked from side to side. Jesus, where was a good game of Bejeweled when he needed it? Or Fruit Ninja. Something.

“You hungry?” Bucky offered. He had all of twenty dollars that Ma had given him when he said he was going on a date. She couldn’t afford it and Bucky knew it, but she’d done it anyway.

“Hm? Nah, not really. What time is it?”

Bucky checked his watch. “Almost eight,” he said. “I think the gift shop and cafe close in another half hour, and the museum at nine.”

“Oh, great, we have another hour.” Steve actually tore his gaze from the painting to throw a bright smile at Bucky, as if he were actually having the time of his life.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, somewhat less bright. “You don’t wanna go look at anything else, before we gotta go?” _Please, please god, can we look at something else..._

“Uh.” Steve seemed to forget about him for a minute, then came back. “I’ve seen pretty much everything already. This is the only new exhibit.” He hesitated, then, “Oh! Is there something else you wanted to see?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “I’ve never been here at all.” Which was true as far as the current timeline went. He and Tony had been here a few times; the museum sometimes served as a venue for some of the ritzy parties that Tony’s colleagues threw. There were a couple of French impressionist paintings that Bucky had liked, mostly because he could joke about how they were _nice paintings_. Tony had laughed, at least.

“Oh!” Steve actually turned all the way around at that, his face lighting up. “Oh, Buck, there’s so much-- There’s no way I can show you all the good stuff in just an hour!”

“Well, probably not, no,” Bucky said. “Show me your favorite. Right now, gun to your head, deserted island, can only take one piece with you. Which one?”

Steve opened his mouth as if to protest having to make a choice at all, and then his eyes narrowed as he took up the challenge. “Um, um... No, well, maybe--” He chewed on his lip some more, then said, “Okay, well, how about...”

Bucky chuckled at the faces Steve was making. “Good lord,” he said. “If someone was actually holding a gun to your head, they’d have already shot you.”

“I didn’t know there was going to be a _test_ ,” Steve grumbled, and then suddenly brightened. “Oh, wait, I know! Come on.” He hurried through the halls, leading Bucky toward the newest art, the concept pieces and interactive installations.

“So,” Steve said, pausing to consult the map posted on one wall, “it’s not actually my favorite piece, but it’s the piece I absolutely would want on a deserted island.” He rounded one more corner, and there was an exhibit that appeared to be made up of a series of old Bakelight phones. He waved Bucky forward, smirking just a little.

Bucky picked up the first handset, not knowing what to expect, and a voice on the other end of the line said, “Please leave.” And then hung up, leaving Bucky with a dial tone in his ear.

Bewildered, Bucky picked up the second. “A message,” said another voice.

“After.”

“The beep.”

And at the last phone, there was a loud beep... and the phone didn’t disconnect.

Steve was grinning. “You can actually leave a message,” he said. “The artist actually listens to them all; I think she’s planning to use them for her next piece. But if I was on a deserted island with this, I could _call for help_.” He started laughing, helplessly.

Bucky held the phone for another moment, almost feeling the weight of expectation on him, as the recording device continued to whirr softly in the background. “Would you accept a collect call from momcomepickmeupnowpracticeisover?” And he hung up.

Steve was still laughing, and he looked happy and like he’d won a prize or something. Bucky was a little prickly; like Steve hadn’t taken the spirit of the question into consideration. Thinking outside the box, yeah, but at the same time, “How are you supposed to know we’re compatible if I don’t know what your favorite art is. I mean… my favorite painting is an old Flemmish thing, _Still Life of Fish and Cat_.” 

Admittedly, he liked it because the artist, Clara Peeters, was huge in popularizing paintings of _food_. The very first Instagrammer. But he couldn’t explain that to Steve, either. That said, he did still like the painting. “She paints like you can reach over and touch the breakfast.”

Steve managed to rein in his laughter, nodding. “Realism’s nice. I didn’t know you actually knew anything about art, Buck.”

“I mean, a little,” Bucky said. “I’m not an artist or anything, but everyone should know what they like to look at. Even if it’s a high glossy of a sports car. Besides, we’ll be doing college interviews an’ lookin’ for jobs in a few years. Good to look well rounded. Have something to talk about with people you haven’t met yet. It’s like the ‘what books are on your bedside table’ question. What was the last book you read that wasn’t for class?”

He was going to mangle date questions out of Steve if it killed him. Or Steve. Also, _food._ His stomach was not happy with the whole _haven’t eaten since lunchtime_ state it was in.

Steve made a bit of a face. “Uh, I re-read _Lord of the Rings_ last summer? I’m not much of a reader. It strains my eyes.”

Bucky opened his mouth to ask about Steve’s opinion on the movies -- which hadn’t been made yet -- and struggled to find something else to say instead. Not that Bucky had been a big reader in high school either; baseball practice didn’t leave a lot of free time, not with the girls to look after and homework. But after--

“I think most recently, I read _Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood_ ,” Bucky said. And waited to see if Steve had an opinion, but he was, as far as Bucky could tell, flatly uninterested in books, or discussing them. If he couldn’t read much, well. “Maybe--” He was about to suggest he could read it to Steve.

But that seemed very intimate, somehow.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “Let’s go on an’ go? I’m _starved_.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess we could get something,” Steve agreed.

"How are you _not_ hungry?" Bucky wondered. He was always hungry, honestly. If Ma put a gallon of milk in the fridge, Bucky would drink it. He followed his nose to the cafe, but the prices were terrifying. 

_Captive audience food_.

"Maybe there's a food cart outside, you think?"

“I think I saw a couple of trucks parked on the next street over,” Steve offered. “We can go see if any of them are still there.”

They did, in fact, find a taco truck that had basic ground meat, cheese, and a few blots of something that might have been salsa, two for five dollars. Bucky shelled out for four tacos and two sodas.

"There's a bench there," Bucky said, nodding back toward the museum and they crowded into the end, Steve holding a handful of those brown paper napkins. 

That part went a little better. They talked about school. Steve talked about his job and Bucky talked about the workout regimen the baseball coach had them on, and they compared notes on their classmates, and generally talked about all the stuff they always talked about.

Steve only ate about two thirds of one taco and when he noticed Bucky eyeing the unopened second one, offered it over. Score! 

It might not have been the best date ever, but when Bucky crumpled up the tin foil and made a basket from the bench, Steve gave him a little mocking cheer. And he fit really sweet under Bucky's arm as they walked over to the bus station to head home.

In hindsight, Bucky should not have been so shocked, really. 

There were two other people waiting for the bus, a girl who might have been a year younger than they were, who was reading a book, and an older man, late twenties, maybe, dressed in some grunge band gear.

"So what are you reading, sugar?" The guy said to the girl. She looked up, gave a wan, colorless smile that didn't reach her eyes and showed him the cover.

Oh great. One of _those_ guys. Bucky rolled his eyes. People never changed.

The girl went back to her book and the man gave Bucky and Steve a once over and then dismissed them. "Is it a good book? You enjoying it?"

"Yes." She didn't even look up.

“Hey. Sweetie, I’m talking to you,” the man persisted.

“I think it’s pretty clear she’s not interested in talking back to you,” Steve said.

The guy shot Steve a look. “Didn’t ask you, shrimp,” he said. “Come on, honey, let’s go somewhere else an’ talk.”

“I can’t miss my bus,” she said, softly, darting a glance at Steve and looking disappointed. Steve was rarely anyone’s idea of a hero type. 

“Come on, dude, not cool,” Bucky added. “Plenty of women at bars, looking for a guy. Let her read her book.”

And that might have been all there was to it; the guy sized them up again. Steve wasn’t anything that he was worried about -- although he probably should have been; Steve didn’t fight fair, prone to biting and using his fingernails and hair pulling if it came down to it. But Bucky was somewhat larger. Even if he was only a teenager, he had plenty of height and some muscle to go along with it. And there were two of them.

He grumbled something that Bucky was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to understand, that sounded vaguely threatening, but he settled back against the bench.

The girl didn’t look at any of them, radiating scared-bunny waves fiercely. She stared at her book, but Bucky could tell she wasn’t actually reading it anymore.

So, tedious, daily microaggression solved.

Except Steve wouldn’t shut up now that they’d _won_.

“I don’t know why jerks like you have to go around being assholes to perfectly innocent women,” he grumbled.

“Shut up,” Bucky said, singsonging under his breath, kicking Steve’s ankle. Everything was fine right now, it was great. He wasn’t bothering the girl, everyone could get on the bus. But when it came right down to it, they were still _kids_.

“You oughta watch your mouth,” the guy sneered, “or you might find yourself eating a fist.”

“Steve, let it go, man,” Bucky said, still soft, practically begging.

Steve did not let it go. He stood up -- not that it made much difference -- and glared down at the man. “You want to try it, prick? You want to take a swing?”

Bucky took a deep breath. Yeah, yeah, okay, so, yeah, the guy wanted to take a swing. He threw up mental hands because he wasn’t about to let Steve go down swinging alone. “Steve--”

He tried, he really tried to talk it out of a fight, but he probably shouldn’t have wasted his breath.

He was just standing up when the guy decked Steve, knocking him into Bucky, and then both of them went over the bench. “Fuck,” Bucky hissed, trying to get untangled from Steve’s limbs, which seemed entirely too long to be attached to the same Steve Rogers that had just been trying to puff up like a damn blowfish two seconds ago. “Get off--”

Bucky rolled over and got to his feet, hands coming up. He’d done boxing for a while, until he’d moved out of the welterweight division on hitting a growth spurt last year.

But boxing wasn’t street fighting, and Bucky hadn’t actually punched another human being in-- decades now.

He hesitated, and his hesitation cost him a split lip.

The bus pulled up to the curb and the girl scurried on.

“That’s our bus, can we just--”

Bucky took a fist to the belly and doubled over, all before Steve managed to get back on his feet-- holding a trash can lid of all things.

“Come on, jerkwad,” he spat. “I can do this all day.” It wasn’t much of a threat, with blood running down his nose and lip as he peered over the edge of the trash can lid.

“Oh, my god,” Bucky groaned, straightening up. “What, do you _like_ gettin’ hit?” But he was already bloody, and so was Steve, so-- “You asked for it, asshole.”

Bucky drew back and punched the way he’d been taught, putting all his strength and weight into the two inches across his knuckles. The guy made a soft, pained sound and Bucky closed in, drawing his arm around the guy’s shoulders and delivered a set of rabbit punches to his kidney, one, two, three, “let’s see you pissing blood tomorrow, jackass. Beating up a _kid_. How’s that make you strong? How’s that make you a _man_?”

“Get ‘im, Buck!” Steve yelled. He danced around like he was looking for an opening to get his own swing in.

The bus was all the way down the block now, far too far away for them to catch.

“Cripes, Stevie, hit him in the head with that damn dinner plate--” Bucky yelled, distracted by looking after the bus and the guy swung again, more enthusiasm and rage than actual skill, but Bucky went over again, skin erased off his elbows as he made contact with the pavement. 

Steve swung his shield and by some kind of miracle actually hit the guy. The lid collided with the man’s head with a solid _pong!_ “G’wan, get outta here!” Steve yelled. “Stop harrassin’ folks just wanna get home!”

“Jesus,” Bucky groaned. “You’re gonna get us _arrested_.” There was, in fact, a cop not all that far down the street, rolling up slow. “Come on, come on, Steve. Let’s just go--”

He all but picked Steve up like a suitcase, one arm around the skinny kid’s waist, dragging him away. Maybe they could still catch up with the bus, if traffic was bad, or the driver was timid. That happened, sometimes. Had to, right? It was twenty fucking blocks home, and he knew for a fact neither of them had cab money. “Ma’s gonna _kill me_.”

“Hey, he started it,” Steve said pugnaciously. “If he hadn’t been such an ass-- Plus, he took the first swing!”

“After you goddamn dared him to,” Bucky pointed out. Steve was, at least, easy to drag, even if he was resisting. He couldn’t have weighed more than eighty-five pounds soaking wet. “Fightin’ words are considered _instigating_ , you hot-blooded Irish punk.”

“He was totally harassing that girl!” Steve protested.

“And he _stopped_ ,” Bucky yelled. “Congratulations, you won. He was leaving her alone. She got on the bus, she’s going home completely unmolested. Yay, us. And--” there was no sign of the bus “-- and now we’re stranded. And _fuck_ , I tore my coat.”

Steve twisted around to look. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Buck. You know I can’t just... I can fix it.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, let’s just-- get hoofin’ it. My Ma’s gonna freak; ain’t like I can call her at her work, you know,” Bucky said. “Are you hurt? Need a doctor, or can your mom patch you up?”

Steve went through a list of places where he was bumped, bruised, or scraped, but nothing seemed actually life threatening. Bucky listened with half an ear. The rest of it was occupied with missing his cellphone, and his credit card, and his top-notch health care plan. He was pretty sure he didn’t need a doctor either, but he was gonna look just… amazing at school tomorrow with a swollen mouth and a black eye, and bruised ribs.

Jesus, Coach was gonna kill him, too, for getting banged up twice in one week.

Steve was alternating between being apologetic at having dragged Bucky into his crusade against all the assholes in the world, and defending himself. Neither was useful or calming.

“--pretty good at mending, Buck, I promise, it’ll barely be noticeable.” He threw Bucky a hangdog, hopeful expression.

“It’s fine, I’ll get Becca to do it,” he said. “She’s takin’ home-ec right now anyway.” He thought. Maybe. She was in seventh grade, so maybe she’d only taken the one grading period of Intro to home ec. He checked his pockets again, just in case cab fare miraculously appeared, but it didn’t. There was his metro pass, and a couple of crumpled ones left over from their dinner. “You got enough to take the train?” He could pay for one single ride ticket. Or Steve’s, but they couldn't get on an Express bus with their reduced fare passes and they'd just missed the last regular bus. 

“Uh.” Steve dug into his pockets and pulled out a handful of change, counting through it carefully. “Almost.”

“How much are you short, I got… an extra dollar twenty here, I think?” They pooled their money and it wasn’t quite enough, but while they were fussing over the spread coins and dollars between them, some ritzy looking woman in a fur coat dropped a handful of change on them, including a Susan B. Anthony dollar. 

Steve scowled, looking like he was getting ready to pick a fight with someone who thought they were panhandling, but managed to actually shut up when Bucky glared at him. It was one thing to get into a street scuffle with some schlub, but assaulting some uptown dame was going to get them in juvie faster than you could spit. “Come on,” Bucky said. “This is enough, let’s go. If we’re really lucky, I can beat Ma home and not have to answer any questions until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, fine,” Steve mumbled, following along after Bucky toward the train station. “And we were having such a good time, too.”

They got on, and off, the train without incident, hallelujah, it was a miracle of biblical proportions.

Even if Mrs. Rogers hadn’t practically run out of the apartment to meet them, already fussing, Bucky wasn’t going to go for a kiss goodnight. His mouth hurt like hell, and there was no point in swapping blood with Steve.

He told himself he wasn’t relieved about that, either. Just worried and in pain and his luck was not going to be in. At least Mrs. Rogers didn’t yell at him. She knew her son well enough to guess what had happened.

“Night, Steve,” Bucky said. “I’ll… yeah, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed over his mother’s scolding. “Uh, thanks. I had a good time, up ‘til... you know.”

“I ain’t half convinced that wasn’t part of your good time, punk,” Bucky teased, and that felt okay. “G’nite Mrs. Rogers.”

It wasn’t that far back to his house, but it was cold, his arms hurt, his mouth hurt, and he was exhausted by the time he finally made it to the door.

Just in time for Ma to land on him with metaphorical cleats.

“James Buchanan Barnes, exactly _what_ is the meaning of this? Look at the state of you!” She tugged him inside and toward the kitchen. “Lord, I thought you boys were going to the _museum_ , not a fighting pit!”

“Don’t tell me there’s a fightin’ pit in Brooklyn, Ma,” Bucky said with a sigh. “I’d never be able t’ get Steve out of it. This is… not my fault.”

But if she heard him at all, it would have been a miracle. And by the time she got his coat off and started washing his cuts and scrapes, he was too damn numb to protest. It hurt, of course it did, because Ma was angry and scared, and none-too-light handed with the witch hazel. But Bucky just sat and let her tend to him, fussing the entire time.

So, for the record, absolutely _stellar_ first date. Heavy on the sarcasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [nice paintings](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nice) joke.
> 
> Have some art:  
> [The Locks at Edenderry](https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/the-locks-at-edenderry-168537/search/actor:luke-john-19061975/page/1/view_as/grid)  
> [Still Life of Fish and Cat](https://nmwa.org/works/still-life-fish-and-cat)


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky liked to think, when he’d gotten older, that he was also wiser. And also, probably, that people had not been obsessed with what everyone else was doing. The whole idea of people think about themselves more, and you less, than you think. No one was supposed to notice, or remember, that you had your shirt on inside out or something. Whatever it was that Bucky used to think that he worried about, back in the day.

He was so, so fucking wrong.

Okay, maybe, he could see people still talking about the fight with Rumlow and his cronies. After all, Bucky was still on the baseball team, he was still considered the lead player -- he had a .320 batting average, for fuck’s sake, and he was a _baseman_. The fact that he and Rumlow had gotten into pushy-pushys in the locker room at almost every single practice until Coach had started supervising the showers because they all couldn’t seem to be trusted to act like civilized people.

Bucky could, maybe, understand people talking about that. Or stopping to stare at him in the hall. 

What he couldn’t understand was all the sudden interest in his _dating life_.

And the _girls_ , holy crap, half the girls in his class, girls that had barely known his damn name in September, were all giggling over him. He’d caught at least three girls who had his name on the inside cover of their notebooks, surrounded by little hearts. He was pretty sure he’d been meant to see that, too.

Which, okay, sudden influx of popularity, he was puzzled by, but he could live with it.

But the number of people who were suddenly asking him about _Steve_ just baffled him. It was still the late nineties and New York was somewhat less terrible than the rest of the country, but it was the goddamn Matthew Sheppard era, and the number of people who wanted to know if he was shacking up, knocking boots, doing the bump and grind, boffing like bunnies, everyone seemed to have a cutesy name for _having sex_ like they were all thinking about it but couldn’t quite bring themselves to say it… 

“So, like, is it _huge_ ,” one kid was asking him at lunch. “I heard that’s actually why he doesn’t take PE, that he doesn’t want everyone staring at him in the locker room.”

“Do I even know you?” Bucky wondered. “Jesus. Steve don’t take PE because he’s got asthma, go stand next to him when he climbs the stairs, you’ll hear it.”

“Yeah, but like--” The kid was still speculating about Steve’s dick when Bucky walked away.

“You are suddenly very popular,” Natasha said, appearing beside him with no warning.

“If anyone else asks me about Steve Rogers’ dick, I swear to God, I am going to dump this chocolate milk in their hair,” Bucky complained. “I have not seen it, touched it, licked it, holy crap. It’s insane. People are _insane_ , that’s the only explanation. If you want some dick so bad, go get it, it’s plentiful and of low value.”

Natasha laughed. “Is there no obsession with sex in the future?”

“Yeah, but it’s usually _your own_ sex,” Bucky said. “Like, I don’t care -- no offense or anything -- if you’re having sex with Clint, that’s your problem, not mine. I might question your judgement, mind you--”

He ducked, because it seemed like Natasha was thinking about hitting him in the head with her lunch tray. 

“My judgement is just fine,” she informed him. “Perhaps these people are obsessed with your sex life because they have none of their own to think about.”

“I am seventeen years old,” Bucky hissed, under his breath. “I don’t currently have a _sex life._ I don’t see why I have to tell everyone in the school personally and routinely that I am not fucking Steve Rogers. We went on a date. One date. One date where I got my ass handed to me by a misogynistic assbag, I might add.” 

There were several people now staring at him. “Fu… _fudge_. When did I start swearing so much?” That was speculation, since obviously Natasha did not know. Or maybe it was that he used the word misogynistic, which was a concept that high schoolers were seemingly oblivious to.

Natasha laughed and tucked her arm through his. “In their imaginations, it was much more romantic. You were the brave defender, perhaps.” Her smile tipped to one side wickedly. “You could take _me_ on a date, and then the entire school would beat down our doors.”

Bucky blinked. “Could I? I mean, honestly, _would_ you go out on a date with me? For some reason, my imagination fails me utterly.”

“Mm, perhaps,” she mused. “You are very pretty. But not, I think, interested in what I have to offer.” She flashed a pair of dimples at him. “Besides, I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Well, I don’t think you have a garden gnome in your pants or anything, but I’m not sure I’d know what to do with it, anyway.”

She did smack him that time, and he thoroughly deserved it, but they were both laughing, so that was okay. Finally, he got through the line, bought his chocolate milk, and Natasha got her tray of greasy pizza and terrible fruit cup and… he wasn’t even sure what the other thing was supposed to be. Green beans, maybe?

“Can I sit with you, _please_?” Bucky asked. She hadn’t invited him, but maybe if he sat with her, he could get away from the gossip for the twenty minutes they had to eat lunch.

“Yes,” she allowed. “You are more interesting than the rest. You can tell me more about the future.”

“Sure,” Bucky said. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, as long as you don’t ask me about Steve’s dick.”

Someone sucked air right behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, getting ready to tell someone off.

Tony was standing there, holding his lunch tray in one hand, huge brown eyes eating up his face.

“I was just going to say hi,” Tony said. Almost squeaked. “So. Hi. Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Tony--” But he was already walking, almost running, away. Bucky turned back to Natasha. “What the hell just happened?”

Natasha was watching Tony’s retreat with thoughtfully pursed lips. “At a guess, he was the only one in the entire school who had not yet heard about you and Steve.”

“There is no _me and Steve,_ ” Bucky exclaimed. “We went on _one date_.” Also, why did Tony care? Bucky’d talked to him all of three times now. Tony barely knew him, there was no reason for Tony to be acting like Bucky’d murdered his kitten or something.

“So you have said,” Natasha said, sliding her tray onto the table and taking her accustomed seat. “And now all the world -- or at least, all the school -- wants to know: will there be a second?”

At least they were finally at Natasha’s table, because Bucky just about collapsed.

“Shit,” he said.

“Was it so bad?” She looked amused, daintily curling her greasy pizza up into a roll.

Bucky chewed at his lip. “I mean, no, it… I don’t.” He sighed. “It was boring.”

“Hmm,” Natasha said consideringly. “Boring, really?”

“Well, no, I mean, Steve’s not _boring,_ Steve’s a great guy, he’s really smart, and he can be funny when he wants to be, and he… he notices things. Like, this is not the Woke Generation, I’m sorry to say, but Steve, he was already seeing that, way before it became a meme.”

Natasha blinked. “I’m fairly sure I know all of the words you just used, but not in the way that you used them.” She shook her head. “So if Steve is great and smart and funny and observant, then why was it boring?”

Bucky had to think about that one for a while. He’d certainly been to art museums before, on dates with Tony, or sometimes just for fun. They’d driven down in one of Tony’s fancy sports cars to see the Rodin collection, because Tony wanted to actually touch the Thinker. That had been a _great_ vacation. He sighed, suddenly depressed, because they hadn’t done anything fun and spontaneous for a while. “I… a date’s supposed to be about an us. A potential us, sometimes, but… Steve was there for _Steve_. He wasn’t lookin’ at art _with me_ , he was just lookin’. And I was there.”

“Ahh,” Natasha sighed. “That is hard. For him, as well, caught between the passion of a lifetime, and a much newer one. Nervous, perhaps, and so he focuses on the thing that calms him and makes him happy, never realizing that he has left you behind.” She nodded, poking at the mush that was probably supposed to be green beans. “He needs someone who will take him in hand.”

“Ain’t me,” Bucky said, with feeling. “Quite obviously, I have screwed my own life up beyond all possible recognition. I ain’t hardly in a position to fix someone else’s.” Maybe that was why Steve in the future had been so… _exciting_. He seemed to have his whole life together, he had what he wanted, he was happy with what he had.

He was _happy_ … with a life that had never included Bucky after school.

But he’d looked at Bucky, looked at him, and really _seen him_. Looked at him, and held him, and they’d danced, and it had been wonderful and romantic and sad and wistful all at the same time and… Bucky wanted it. He wanted to take it, hold it, keep that feeling.

“It’s depressing to hear that even at thirty-seven, we haven’t all figured out our lives.” 

“That much of being an adult is a crock of shit,” Bucky said. “We _never_ figure it out. We just get better at lookin’ like we have it figured out. And you’re always, _always_ tired. So much drama just doesn’t happen anymore because you’re too damn tired to start it.” Bucky finished off his chips. “Go on, ask me something interesting. One thing about the future.”

Natasha speared a bit of pineapple out of her fruit cup, considering. “What’s the thing you miss the most?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say _my phone_ which was true to some degree. And then he wanted to say _Tony_ , but he’d been missing Tony for a while now, and that wouldn’t change if he went back. He sighed. “It’s a combination of things, really,” Bucky said. “I miss some of the more mundane things about bein’ an adult. Security -- gotta say, if nothin’ else, at least I ain’t _hungry_ in the future. I’m not wearing patched shoes and worrying about my little sister in her dress held together with tape. I miss bein’ able to just do a thing, if I want to. I mean, you ever want to do something really stupid or messy, and knowing you’ll get in trouble if you do? When you’re an adult, who’s gonna stop you? You want to paint your wall orange, or sleep till noon, or eat cake for breakfast. Go for it. You want to throw an entire basket of rubber balls down a flight of stairs? That, by the way, is enormously fun and worth every minute of having to pick them all up again.”

Natasha laughed softly. “I will remember that.”

“And I miss my phone,” he admitted. “You will not believe what phones end up like, in the future. If I want a pizza, I can pull out my phone and push buttons and get a pizza delivered without ever having to talk to a single person. I shop, I do my banking, I conduct business with people all over the world. More powerful than the desktop computers that like, only half the people have these days, and it fits _in your pocket_.” _And I use it to look at pictures of cats and get in fights with total strangers about politics._

Natasha grinned. “That’s better than Star Trek communicators. I can’t wait.”

“Star Trek’s got nothing on what really happens,” Bucky said. “Well, except replicators. Those would be nice.”

He pushed back from the table a little, and found himself looking at Tony, who was suddenly, scrupulously, staring at his lunch. Like he’d been watching Bucky from across the room and didn’t want Bucky to know it.

That… that hurt. Not that Tony was ignoring him, but that somehow, Bucky had hurt Tony. He’d never meant to do that. Even if he couldn’t figure out why it happened.

“Do you think I should talk to him?” Bucky wondered. Maybe he shouldn’t. Just let it be over, or never started, or whatever it was. Time travel was hard on the conjugation of verbs. Worse than French.

Natasha tipped her head slightly, studying him inscrutably. “I think _you_ think you should talk to him,” she said after a moment. “Why is that?”

“He’s _upset_ ,” Bucky said, automatically. “Like, lock himself in the basement and tinker with shit all weekend and forget to eat upset.” 

Natasha glanced over at Tony, and then looked back at Bucky. “Oh,” she said softly. “Now _that’s_ interesting.”

“Are you deliberately being all _woman of mystery_ , here, and trying to build your reputation for being a little sneak, or are you trying to get me to ask you to explain?” Bucky wondered. “Because, I’m happy to pass off to everyone that you are _terrifying_.” That sounded sincere, rather than sarcastic, quite possibly because it _was_.

“Your future husband is _Tony Stark_ ,” she breathed.

“Not too much more future, really, if I hadn’t fucked with the timeline,” Bucky said. “Kinda funny, really. We ended up having to get his guardian’s permission, and then we had to go get a judge’s permission, and it was ridiculous. He’s not even _sixteen_ yet.” And they’d been so stupidly nervous about the whole thing, like some adult was going to make them stop doing what they were doing. Desperate to be together, to have someone who’d have their backs, always.

“His _guardian?_ ” Of course Natasha had latched onto the thing Bucky didn’t want to think about at all. “Something happened -- will happen -- to his parents?”

“Well, maybe not now,” Bucky said. Maybe he’d kept that from happening, if he and Tony didn’t date, then Howard wouldn’t have been so angry, and if he wasn’t so mad, maybe he wouldn’t have driven after drinking, and wouldn’t have turned practically all the way around in the driver’s seat to scream at them--

Wouldn’t have left Tony with that terrible guilt that somehow he’d caused his parents’ deaths. Howard was an asshole, but he shouldn’t have died like that. Not full of rage, not after telling his son that he was _ashamed_ of him. Those were no words to have been the last thing Tony heard.

“Mm, perhaps not,” Natasha agreed. She snuck another glance in Tony’s direction, and then said, “You should talk to him.”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say,” Bucky said. “It’s too easy to talk to you, and I ain’t convinced you don’t think I’m insane. Maybe I am.”

Despite that, he grabbed his bag, dumped his trash, and walked over to Tony’s table. There was something almost deja vu about it, the way he’d done when he’d asked Tony to be his date, after staring at the guy for almost three months straight. “Mind if I sit?”

Tony stared at him like a rabbit caught in a light, then shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.” He looked determinedly down at the lunch that he was systematically picking to pieces without eating.

_I used to know how to talk to you,_ Bucky thought, and it was like the thought was so loud he was sure that everyone could hear it. Except nothing changed. Tony was ignoring him, deliberately. With effort, really. Bucky could see the way his eyes flicked, from Bucky’s tattered sneaker to his lunch, to the gray and blue table. “Did you, uh-- get in trouble with your parents?” He couldn’t see the burn mark, but if he looked very closely, he could see the dull mat of powdered concealer on Tony’s cheek. Makeup had come a long way in twenty years, too.

Tony shook his head. “Not really. Mom caught me sneaking her concealer back into her vanity, but I managed to convince her it was for a zit.”

Bucky snorted, then made a show of admiring Tony’s skin. “Yeah? How’d you manage that, you are fuckin’ flawless.” Which wasn’t _entirely_ true; there was a cluster of blackheads at the side of Tony’s nose, probably where he was rubbing at his face constantly, but he was a teenager, teenagers had zits. For that matter, adults had them, which was about as unfair as a thing could be. And Tony really needed his eyebrows done; he had some major Einstein brows going on. But he was beautiful, as perfect as Bucky could have wanted him to be.

_And why, exactly, do you need him to be perfect,_ he suddenly asked himself. _Maybe part of the problem you have is that you expect too much._

Tony glanced at him sharply, then looked down again. “Yep, all part of that Stark magic,” he said, aiming for carefree and carelessly vain. “No flaws, no soft spots, and no mistakes.”

“ _I know a thousand ways not to make a lightbulb_ ,” Bucky said. “I couldn’t figure it out, why they’d be pissed that you got hurt. Image, right? My Ma, once. We lived in a different apartment before my dad left us, and my Ma had this cat, and that cat _hated_ me. Scratched the hell out of my cheek in second grade, right before pictures. Ma was _furious_.”

“And now imagine your second-grade yearbook photo was going to wind up on the cover of the _Sun_ ,” Tony agreed, shredding a little more of his lunch. He glanced at Bucky again, so quick it was barely there. “Did you want something?”

“I can’t just come over to talk?” Bucky wondered. Because he did want a lot of things, and they were all a weird jumbling mess, and he had no idea what to do with any of them. He wanted Tony to not look so damn sad, and he wanted to be the reason that Tony wasn’t sad. And he wanted to run away so fast it would make Tony’s head spin because falling in love with Tony Stark seemed goddamn inevitable sometimes, and it had been a mistake.

Wouldn’t Dr. Strange be so upset if Bucky _wasted_ his second chance?

And yet, he was helpless to do anything else. He couldn’t walk away from Tony when Tony looked like he was practically on the verge of tears. Or worse, that self-mocking laughter that hid a wide variety of hurts.

“Sure you can,” Tony said, so, so casually. “Why not? Us whist players should stick together.”

_Ow._ “But you don’t want me to,” Bucky said, more than asked. “Which has this weird effect, really. Call it an apple paradox; the more you tell someone they can’t have a thing, the more they want it. So… why don’t you want me to talk to you?” _Give me a good reason, Tony, and I’ll go away._

“Because I don’t know what you _want_ ,” Tony burst out, low and suddenly furious. “We were talking the other day, and you were...” His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “I read it wrong,” he said. “My fault, not yours. I didn’t realize you were _actually_ talking about playing whist.”

“I kinda was,” Bucky said. “Your Mr. Jarvis… he cares about you, a lot. You can tell, just listening to him. It’s something he wanted to share with you. But-- okay, yeah, some of that was my fault. You’re very easy to talk to. I _like_ talking to you. I like it that you listen.”

“I liked talking to you, too,” Tony said, even lower.

“So, we’re in agreement, that it’s okay if I talk to you?” Bucky asked. He really wanted to duck down and try to get a look at Tony’s face. Tony hadn’t yet perfected that press-mask and smile, the one that said, _everything is fine, and I’m so happy to see you_ that was such a lie. And even by the time he had, Bucky had become an expert in _recognizing_ that look.

Tony took a breath and blew it out. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and it sounded a little less forced. “We can be friends, who doesn’t need more friends?”

“Tony,” Bucky said, practically a whisper, because-- Jesus, Tony thought he was being _friendzoned_. Or worse, that Bucky was putting him on the back burner, the one on the string in case things didn’t work out with Steve.

Which was exactly what he was doing, intentionally or not.

“Jesus,” Bucky said. “I _seriously_ fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“No, I get it, I told you, I misread. I thought, I mean. I didn’t know you and Rogers were--”

“One date is not _dating_ , for fuck’s sake, how many--” Bucky lowered his voice hastily as everyone in a four table radius turned around to stare at them. “Jesus. Sorry, I’m not. I’m not dating Steve Rogers. We went on one date. There’s… nothing decided about it. It’s not… I mean, I know, okay. I know. We’re all brave and shit, being _out_ in damn high school, and, going on a date, and people know about it. But.”

_But what? What exactly is the but here, Barnes?_

Tony shot him a sidelong look. “But you didn’t mean it, when you were flirting, before. I get it.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Bucky said. “You don’t because I have _no idea what I’m doing_. Why does everyone think I know something that I don’t know? It’s not… I don’t _know_ how I feel. About any of this. It’s confusing and crazy and weird, and it shouldn’t be, and I don’t know why it is. But what I do know is that looking across the lunch room and seeing you look so damned sad made me feel like an absolute _asshole_ , and I wanted… I want you to not look like that. I don’t know how to do that.”

Tony took another one of those bracing breaths and then finally, _finally_ looked directly at Bucky. “So what you’re saying is, we’re both a couple of idiots?” His mouth twitched into something almost like a smile, more genuine than anything else Bucky had seen today.

“Well, that wouldn’t be anything new,” Bucky said, because that had kinda been their go-to phrase for a long time, whenever they fought. Somewhere in there, they’d stopped fighting, but maybe that was worse, because they just… assumed. Bucky assumed Tony would call himself an idiot, and Tony would buy something expensive to make it up, because they’d never figured out how to tell when an argument was _over_. “If it matters, I don’t think you’re an idiot. I’m the one who can’t figure this shit out. You were doing perfectly fine before I stepped in it.”

Tony snorted. “Sure. So perfectly fine that I thought _whist_ was code for _making out_ , sure, _fine_.” He laughed a little and put his head in his hands.

Somehow, that hit harder than most of the deliberate seductions that Tony had made on him, over the years. He was suddenly, and completely, on fire. The idea of finding some dark corner and pushing Tony into it, claiming that sweet mouth-- “... _What_? You-- I mean--” Is this what had happened, last time? They’d fallen in love so damn fast, but Bucky, looking back at it, thought it had been their mutual tragedy that had cemented things. That they’d clung to each other like drowning men, and somehow managed to make it to shore. But if Tony was thinking about that before anything, no dates, no flowers, no extremely flamboyant, in front of everyone, invitation to prom. Bucky had been the king of big gestures, but-- did that change anything? “That was something you--” And he couldn’t stop staring at Tony’s lips.

“Oh my god, and you didn’t even _realize_ , I’m _such_ an idiot,” Tony groaned, a touch theatrically. “I’m cursed, I swear.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t realize that… that I had that sort of effect on you, Tony. You’re…” 

“Just a kid, I know,” Tony grumped.

“So far out of my league,” Bucky corrected. “And-- this wasn’t supposed to happen, you… you weren’t supposed to notice me at all.” _I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you all over again, because all I’m going to do is make you unhappy later, rather than unhappy now._

Tony shot him an unimpressed look. “Have you even _looked_ at yourself in the mirror, Mr. All-Star Stud? You’re _noticeable_.”

Suddenly Bucky was angry, he didn’t even know where it came from. “ _Baseball_ isn’t why I wanted you to notice me,” he snapped. “I’m not a pretty face in a tight uniform that-- you can just forget about to move on to the next shiny thing.” He was already fumbling for his backpack to storm off when the bell rang. Class. Thank Christ. He didn’t think he’d ever been so excited for math class in his _entire life_.

He’d gone several long strides when he heard Tony behind him say, “ _Bucky_.” When, reluctantly, Bucky glanced back, Tony was standing up, backpack slung over one shoulder, leaning against the table with a hint of that devil-may-care attitude that made him so infuriating... so _exciting_. “Call me,” he said. “You can teach me to play whist.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky might have been a coward, and he might have been a thirty-seven year old idiot trapped in the body of a seventeen year old, even bigger idiot.

But he wasn’t cruel.

Which meant, rather than avoid the situation entirely, until Steve came to him, broken-hearted and angry and ruined any chance of them remaining friends, Bucky needed to _talk_ to him.

Easier said than done.

First, Miss Grey separated them in Chem. Probably because she’d also heard the rumors and didn’t want them canoodling under the desk or something when they were supposed to be plotting radioactivity decay graphs.

And then Steve’s work called him in for extra hours, not once, but four nights running. Which meant Steve barely had time to eat or do his homework, and certainly no time for a heart-to-heart with Bucky.

And then Coach decided to do some stupid baseball camp weekend, which ate up Bucky’s Saturday and Sunday.

And-- Steve was absent on Monday. Probably because he’d been working too much and gotten sick. Steve had always been frail.

Which meant, as far as the school was concerned, Bucky and Steve were celebrating their _two week anniversary_. At least, a corner of his mind pointed out, it was still almost three weeks until Valentines’ Day. Breaking up with the day before Valentines’ Day was like some cliched bad joke.

“Two week anniversary? That’s a thing?” he demanded of Natasha. “Would you even be pissed with your boyfriend if he forgot your two week anniversary? I mean, how is that a thing?”

“Relationships have been sunk on lesser rocks,” Natasha said. “When the lifespan of the relationship is likely to be measured in months, every week counts.”

“This is _not_ normal,” Bucky complained. He sighed. He’d been sitting with Natasha at lunch -- sometimes with the addition of Clint and that scrawny kid, Coulson, a few times. Sam Wilson joined them once or twice. And Tony, of all people, when Bucky didn't even know he and Natasha knew each other. But not Steve, because he and Steve were on different lunches, and Bucky supposed that was something to be grateful for, because everyone expected couples to sit together at lunch. “You know what. You should date Steve. Or ask him out, or something.”

“Just to get you off the hook?” Natasha asked, eyebrow raised.

“No, no, not a real-- well, yes, a real date. Actually go on a date. But not just for me, I’m not talking about me here. But if I _dump_ Steve, regardless that we weren’t actually dating, everyone’s gonna say I dumped Steve. Which sounds arrogant as shit, and I swear, I’m not that guy, but you know what everyone thinks. If I dump Steve, he’s going to be lower than _persona non grata_. My reputation’s not gonna take a hit from it, which is silly, because I really _do not care_ about my reputation. Which is only something that someone can say when they have a good reputation, I know. Sue me, I didn’t make the world, I just have to live here.”

“So you want me to date Steve to protect _his_ reputation,” Natasha summarized.

“Sorta, yeah. I mean, we’re in high school,” Bucky explained. “And high school kids, no offense, are sheep. What they see one person doing is weird, but when a few people are doing it, they start wondering. So, I dated Steve for a while, you date Steve, people start wondering… what’s interesting about Steve. And he has a chance to find… someone who will be right for him, because I’m really startin’ to believe that, much as I wanted it to be like that, it’s not me.”

Maybe he was cursed, wasn’t that what Tony said? That he just broke everything he touched, and that maybe he shouldn’t date at all.

_Melodramatic_ , he accused himself.

Natasha didn’t take offense at his metaphor. “Yes, I understand the benefit for Steve. What’s in it for me?”

Bucky couldn’t believe he didn’t see that brick wall coming before he walked face-first right into it. “Uh--” He laughed a little helplessly. “In twenty years, I’d have promised to get you tickets to _Hamilton_ , but you have no idea what that is, do you? No, scratch that. Uh… do you ever bet on sporting events? The New York Yankees sweep the series this year, over San Diego.” Bucky had listened to those games on the radio while doing his physical therapy, some sort of masochism, he thought at the time, learning how to do everything one handed while listening to his favorite ball team cream the Padres. It had been almost embarrassing, really.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not a _bribe_. I _meant_ , what is good about Steve that I should give him the chance? You never actually talk about him.”

“No, I do--” Bucky protested, although he hadn’t really meant for Natasha to need to give Steve an actual chance. Which was, in fact, kind of shitty of him. Just because they were in high school and none of this was going to really matter all that much to most people in a few years, didn’t make people toys for him to puppet around. “He’s an artist. Not like sketching in notebooks and cartoony drawings, but… art. Hang it in a gallery kind of art. In the future, he’s published like three books on art and photography.”

Bucky waved his hands around. “He… looks at the world differently, he sees it differently from most people. Maybe that’s because he spent so much time sick, as a kid. He couldn’t really participate in life, not the way most of us do, so he honed his observation skills. Which doesn’t sometimes mean he’s not _exceptionally_ clueless. But. He notices things.

“He gets mad when people are mean. You know, it’s not easy, taking all the shit people dump on you for being _differently abled_ and not want to break a piece of that off in someone else. I have so many people acting like I can’t do anything, because I’m -- I will be. Missing an arm. They act like I’m contagious, or stupid. Like missing an arm means my brain don’t work right. It’s awful. And I’m an adult. Steve’s been dealing with that shit since he was born. And it didn’t make him bitter. It makes him kind to other people, with even less. It makes him angry, watching people pick on weaker people. That’s why he gets in fights so much. I think his idea is to give bullies a target. Hey, don’t pick on that kid with glasses, go ahead, hit me, I’m used to it.”

Natasha actually looked a little intrigued. “You two have been friends for a while.”

“On an’ off since like second grade,” Bucky said. “We missed a few years here and there, not because we fought or anythin’ but he missed a lot of school that year that he got pneumonia, and they held him back a year. He did summer school and caught up, but-- you know. Life.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” she said. “I do not date because no one here _sees_ things. It’s very frustrating.”

“Whereas, you see everything,” Bucky teased. “From your web of information. You know, some of the kids call you Black Widow, behind your back. Although I think they mean it more in the man-eating sort of way.”

She smiled. “I am aware. It’s not a bad name, really. I will consider it. But--” She pointed at Bucky. “--you must first make him aware that he is single.”

“Yeah, I’m workin’ on that bit,” Bucky said with a sigh. “God help me, I ain’t never -- ever -- broke up with nobody.”

Steve was unlikely to help him out in that matter, either. Of course, there was no reason to break up -- stupid phrase that it was, because they hadn’t been going steady either. Which meant Bucky was likely to be forced to listen patiently to a bunch of reasons why there was no need to break up, that Steve could -- fix things.

Ug.

_God, you’re arrogant,_ Bucky thought. _And no goddamn prize, either, and if Steve hasn’t seen that yet, he sure as hell will once you pull this stunt._

“No?” Natasha looked like she didn’t quite believe that. “If you want my advice, do it quickly. Rip off the bandaid.”

“I begin to understand why people have second week anniversaries,” Bucky said morosely. “It’s so that they can pretend to forget and let the _other_ person do the dumping. He’s gonna be upset, an’ I know, I can’t… I can’t make everything better for everyone. I just. I don’t want him to be upset. Makes me feel like a heel, an’... an’ it’s _Steve_. I’ve known him most of my life. How can I have a second chance and screw things up so bad, Natasha?”

“Perhaps _Steve_ is not the second chance you were meant to have.” Natasha finished her french fries and patted his shoulder as she stood up. “See you this afternoon at practice.” She had started showing up to watch baseball practice, even though it was still early in the season and all they were doing was running laps and practicing swings and throws.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “Uh, Nat? In case I hadn’t said. Thanks. You know. For-- everything.”

She smiled, an actual happy smile instead of her usual _I know everything and you don’t_ smirk. “You’re welcome. I like you.”

“Which is not to say you’re not still terrifying. Because you are.”

***

No time like the present, Bucky thought, except that was patently untrue.

He couldn’t dump Steve after Chem, because one, _rude_ , and two, they only had four minutes between classes. And if he tried to wait until after practice, and after Steve got off work, he risked having to do it in front of (or at least, adjacent to) Mrs. Rogers. And if he did it between school ending and practice, he’d be late for practice, and Steve would be late for work, and--

“This is why people write fuckin’ _letters_ ,” Bucky muttered to himself. Coward’s way out.

After school. It wasn’t going to get any easier the longer he put it off, so he might as well get it over with.

He practically ran from one side of the school, where his last class was, to the back entrance where Steve usually left from to walk to his job.

“Steve, Steve, wait up, man,” Bucky said, gaining the door and seeing a tiny figure disappearing into the distance.

Steve glanced back at his name, and his face lit up when he saw Bucky. “Bucky! Hey! It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, huh? Barely seen you at all.”

“Yeah, little bit,” Bucky said, falling in beside him and settling his pack on his shoulders. “Feelin’ better?”

“Yeah, mostly,” Steve said. “Still have a bit of a cough. How’s training going?”

“Coach is trying to keep me an’ Rumlow from fighting, so he’s wearing us out,” Bucky said. “Either that, or he’s decided that it’s some sort of character building exercise to make us do a hundred squats and pushups and sit ups.”

“Is it making Rumlow any less of an asshat?” Steve glanced behind them at the school building. “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice now?”

“Yeah, I am,” Bucky said, “but I wanted to talk to you. If you have a minute.”

“I can even spare you two,” Steve said, grinning. “What’s up?”

“I… uh,” Bucky said, and then, taking a deep breath, he took Natasha’s advice. “Everyone’s waitin’ to see if I take you on a second date, and it occurred to me that you were probably in that group of everyone. So-- I thought I might check your expectations. I--”

“Oh my god, I couldn’t believe the rumors,” Steve groaned. “I swear, you want to check the locker room for peepholes or something because some of those girls who cornered me wanting to talk about your _dick_ , like -- Jesus, it was the first date!” He threw his hands up.

“Yeah, you know it,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Crazy-- I mean, first off, that’s super nosy, and two… well, yeah. Also, gross and not their business, and… even if-- I mean, I’m not gonna tell my seatmate from second bell!”

“Right? Also, like, even if we _had_ , why would I want to tell someone something to give them incentive to try to get between us?”

Bucky made a face. Some sort of face, he wasn’t sure what his face was doing, mind you, but it was doing _something_. “Steve, I-- I don’t really think this thing. Is gonna happen. I know, I’m messin’ everything up and I’m so sorry, but-- it’s not you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just. I’m… look, I have some really conflicted feelings about what I want and what I think I should want, and I like someone-- that I didn’t think I should like, and-- you don’t deserve to be some sort of buffer between me and whatever the hell is going on in my head. That’s not fair to you.”

Steve stared at him, eyes wide enough for Bucky to see the whites all the way around that clear sky-blue, and for an agonizing few seconds, Bucky was certain Steve was about to burst into tears. But when Steve finally reacted, it was to sag against the wall and sigh, “Oh, thank _god_.”

That was… not what Bucky had anticipated. At all.

“Run that by me again?”

Because that stung his pride a bit, and he pushed it away with both hands, because he did not need his ego getting in the way and making him do something stupid. 

But he did think he deserved some sort of explanation.

“I mean, I thought it was just me,” Steve said. “I’ve-- I guess you probably already know, but I’ve had the biggest crush on you for, like, _years_ , and I was so excited -- but then we went out and I had a good time and everything but it was just. _Weird_ , whenever I thought about it being a date instead of just hanging out, you know?” He gave Bucky a quick, slightly shaky grin. “Guess we’re better as friends.”

Bucky searched Steve’s face for a moment, for any sign that he might be fronting, or anything. But there was just honest relief that Steve wasn’t going to have to deal with some sort of scene, or be dragged on a half dozen or more boring dates before he decided he really didn’t enjoy that. “Good, good, that’s… that’s real good, Stevie.” If they hadn’t just said they weren’t going to do this, he might have kissed Steve just out of relief.

Which was perverse and stupid and only what Bucky was beginning to expect out of his broken brain.

“Then-- uh, have a good day at work, and I’ll see you Thursday for Chem homework? Just like always?”

Steve made a face. “Ug, _Chem_. I cannot _wait_ to get out of this dump and away from all that bullshit.” He hitched his backpack up a little and tossed Bucky a wave. “Yeah, see you Thursday. Assuming they don’t try to make me pull another double.”

Bucky was almost whistling when he walked to practice, feeling all the burden of disappointing Steve lifting right off him. He was pretty sure he’d be feeling something entirely different when he showed up to practice twenty minutes late, but for the moment, he was just utterly, blissfully, unconcerned about _everything._


	8. Chapter 8

“Hello, Mr. Jarvis,” Bucky said. “Can I speak with Tony, please, it’s Bucky Barnes.”

“Mr. Barnes, how good to hear from you,” Jarvis said warmly. “One moment; I’ll see if Anthony is available to take your call.”

Bucky waited a couple of minutes, and then Tony’s voice said, “Bucky, hey!”

“You’re good to talk, yeah? I mean, I just called to see if Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis wanted to play whist, but if you can chat for a little while, I can spare you a few minutes,” Bucky said, laying back, the curly telephone cable snaking around his leg to the body of the phone which was on the floor. The silvery cable that attached it to the wall was brand new. Bucky’d bought a longer cable so that he could drag the phone all the way into Ma’s bedroom to talk privately. She wasn’t home, she’d never know he was laying on her bed.

There were things he just did not want Becca listening in on.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Tony said, laughing. “You’re just using me for my connections, to feed your tragic gambling habit.”

“Absolutely,” Bucky said. He took a breath. “I… I wanted you to know, ‘cause I hear all the rumors still, goin’ around, and… Steve and I ain’t goin’ out.” Stupid phrase, _going out_. “Better for us, to be friends. I-- yeah, I thought it might matter to you, that you know that.”

There was Bucky, fishing. He could all but see himself, wearing a stupid straw hat and baiting a hook, tossing it in the water to see if anything tugged on it.

“Yeah?” It came out casual but a little breathless. “Well, it’s nice to hear something first, for a change. Was he really upset?”

“No,” Bucky said. “He’s okay. I mean, friendship’s not a consolation prize or anything. We’re friends. Actual friends, not the bullshit let’s-be-friends. We’re still studying together for Chem. We went on a date, it didn’t-- I mean, there wasn’t anything to work out, you know? There wasn’t anything else… there. And now we _know_ that, so we don’t have to… wonder about it. Which does not seem to stop anyone from yammering on about it, swear to god. I almost decked Rumlow today at practice.”

“Far be it from me to encourage such ruffian behavior,” Tony said with an affected accent, dropping back into his normal voice to say, “but he’d have deserved it.” He went quiet for a moment and then said, “Jarvis wants to know if you’re coming over. You know, for whist.”

“I got practice tomorrow, and Wednesday, and Thursday is Steve’s, but Friday, I’m all yours. And Mr. Jarvis’s, of course.”

“Yeah?” Bucky could practically _hear_ Tony’s smile. “It’s a-- I mean, I’ll let him know.”

“Good, great,” Bucky said. “You… uh, I mean, does Mr. Jarvis pick you up after school? Or, if you walk, we could walk together?”

“Jarvis usually gives me a ride,” Tony said. “We’ll get you there, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “Oh, yeah, and Nat said you could eat lunch with us this week, in case she didn’t tell you. She was thinking about planning some sort of epic revenge thing against Rumlow, and wanted your input.”

“Oh, I am 100% on board for that,” Tony said gleefully. “Is there a specific thing we’re getting revenge on him for, or just, y’know, his general existence?”

So, Bucky told him about the pictures of the girl, and how he’d been threatening to spread them around. “Clint wants to practice his lockpicking and break into the guy’s locker to get them back, which, yeah, great, but I think we should sabotage his locker, while we’re in there anyway. Which is where you come in, mechanical genius.”

“I can _definitely_ come up with something for that,” Tony agreed, sounding excited. “I’ll have some preliminary plans put together in time for lunch tomorrow.”

“Good,” Bucky said, then, hesitated. “What’s your first class tomorrow?”

“AP Physics,” Tony said. “Nothing like a little hardcore fluid dynamics before the coffee’s kicked in.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “I’ll uh. I’ll walk in a little early, meet you at the parent drop off, and walk you to class? If that’s okay?”

“I... Yeah, that’s. That would be fine.” Now Tony sounded tentative, almost uncertain. “I can bring coffee?”

“Oh, that would be excellent,” Bucky said. “But you know, you don’t have to-- Coffee’s just a bonus.” Nervous. He was nervous about walking Tony to goddamn class? There had to be something in the school air that made him into an idiot. That was really as simple as it was.

Tony scoffed, sounding a little more himself. “Coffee is a necessity of _life_.”

_So are you._ But Bucky didn’t say that. Much too soon. “That’s fair. So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Sure thing, see you tomorrow.”

“Tony?” Bucky hesitated, then, “G’nite. Sleep well.”

“You too, Bucky.”

Bucky hung up the phone, and then walked it back into the kitchen.

Becca was sitting at the kitchen table, all of thirteen years old, staring at him pointedly. 

“Who was that?” she demanded.

“No one you know, squirt,” Bucky said. He carefully unplugged the new cable from the jack, reconnected the phone to the old cable, and wrapped up the new one. 

“Are you going on another date?”

“Not yet,” Bucky said. He coiled the cable and fastened it with a bread tie. “You will thank me for this, one day.” He put the phone cable on the bottom shelf in the pantry, behind the paper plates that Ma had bought for her ladies’ garden club and then never gone to any of the meetings. She disapproved of paper plates, as long as you had elbows to wash dishes with.

Becca gave him the stink-eye. “I’m s’posed to be grateful that you’re sneaking around? How’s that work?”

“In… oh, three years? You’re going to be able to want to use the phone without Rachel listening in,” Bucky said, wisely. He didn’t mention it was going to be because she’d started seeing Richard Proctor. Right now, Richard Proctor was still Dickie, and the kid who spilled paint all over her new dress two years ago. Becca didn’t get new stuff very often, and she’d been absolutely horrified when the paint didn’t come out.

Becca rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

He sat down at the table across from her. From the back room, they could hear Rachel singing a lullaby to one of her dolls. Funny how things worked out. Becca scorned dolls and housekeeping, and had stated several times she was going to get a brownstone _by herself_ and never, ever get married. And yet, Becca would end up being the wife with four children running around her legs, and Rachel would end up out in Africa, doing emergency surgeries on the edges of warzones.

“Your homework’s all done? How was school?” Ma had called earlier; she’d be home in an hour, so they’d have a late dinner.

Becca rolled her eyes again. “It was fine. Why? You never ask about school stuff.”

“Guess I’m realizing what’s important,” Bucky said, slowly. “You’re important, you know that, right? Like, to me?”

Becca stared at him. “Are you, like, sick or something? Is this a prank?”

Bucky shook his head and laughed. “No, I ain’t sick,” he said. “Just, you know, you don’t get a lot of attention, middle child and all that. I’m the boss, and Rachel’s the baby. Just want you to not feel neglected.”

“You’re acting weird,” she informed him. “You’re not doing drugs or something, are you?”

All the things he’d wanted to say to his family, later… and now he could say them, he had the chance to make things different. “Yeah, I’m weird. I know.” He messed up Becca’s hair and got swatted for his trouble. “Come on, tell me you love me and I’ll make us up chocolate pudding for dessert.”

Becca grinned. “I love anyone who gives me chocolate pudding.”

Bucky got out the pot and a packet of mix. “Get out milk, and I’ll start it heating.” It wasn’t much. A thirty cent packet of pudding mix and a few cups of milk, but there’d be four servings and they could each have something a little sweet with dinner. Becca could have done it herself, but she was still professing an undying hatred of cooking. Mostly, Bucky thought, because she had to do it in class, too.

The pudding did… not make it until Ma got home to cook dinner, but she just laughed at them, and ate her share while water boiled for spaghetti anyway.

All in all, a very, very good day.

***

It had taken every bit of Bucky’s patience to get his sisters out of the house that morning and get to school with any prayer of being early. He scrambled to the bench outside the main door, where parents and taxis dropped off their kids, and then waited.

It was only a few minutes before that big car pulled up to the curb and Tony was climbing out of the back, heavy backpack dangling from his shoulder as he leaned back in to say something to Jarvis.

When he closed the car door and turned, he paused, his eyes scanning the mass of students hurrying to class, and when he spotted Bucky, he smiled, his eyes lighting up. He didn’t quite jog across the sidewalk, but he stretched his legs. “You’re actually here.”

“Hey, doll, yeah, I’m here,” he said, and he snitched Tony’s backpack, slinging it up on his shoulder. He almost regretted that show of gallantry, as Tony’s backpack was huge, heavy, and full of pointy things that jutted out at random angles. “What’s in this thing, a mace? Bricks. Very small nuclear devices?”

“I can carry it,” Tony said, and his cheeks were flushed bright. “It’s just some, you know. Tools and stuff.”

“Building anything fun?” Bucky wondered. “My uncle’s been making noises about giving me his old Buick, but I’m gonna have to do some research. Needs the muffler replaced, and the whole system needs a flush. I can rent a garage downtown to do the work, I’m just not sure how to do it.” Not entirely true, but without YouTube to refresh his memory, Bucky was going to be working with a library book on the floor wrapped in Saran to keep it from getting oily.

“Oh, I _love_ working on cars!” Tony enthused. “We’ve got a garage; you can work on it at my place if you want. Save the rental fee. Muffler’s not too hard, if you can get your hands on the right parts.”

“There’s plenty of junkyards, we can scrounge,” Bucky said, then, hesitantly, “you know, if you wanted to come with me.”

They stopped at Bucky’s locker, then Tony’s, and then Bucky lingered in the hall with Tony outside of Tony’s first bell. 

“Okay, gotta run,” Bucky said, finally, “but I’ll find you back here, since Chem’s next door--” He pointed, and then noticed that there was an entire cluster of kids, just watching them, from one of the rooms that didn’t normally have a first bell class in it. “Jeeeeeeez. Can’t get away from it, can I?”

Tony grinned, and Bucky could see that it was a half-grown version of what would one day be his press smile. “Nope, not here. I’ll see you later.” He gave Bucky a friendly clap on the arm and then tossed a little wave at the gawkers before ducking into his class.

“Nothin’ to see here,” Bucky muttered. He shouldered his pack and scooted on to his first bell.

This-- this he remembered. The eagerness to see Tony for the few minutes a day they could squeeze out. He’d started that, the day after he asked Tony to prom, all the way through the end of May, which was prom. And then, that had been it for him and school. He’d taken most of his tests later, and he was pretty sure he got his high school degree more from pity than anything else.

But he remembered those moments, stolen in the hallways, moments where they walked just a little too close, letting their knuckles brush, since _holding hands_ was right out of the question. He remembered laying on the sofa at night and thinking about Tony, and burning for him.

Taking his car over, the very first drive as soon as he had his name on the deed, to Tony’s place, to go for a ride.

It could work. It would work.

Bucky just needed to figure out where things went _wrong_. 

When he got to baseball practice that afternoon, Nat was sitting in the bleachers, watching, as usual. But this time, she had company: Steve and Tony. She sat between them, but every time Bucky glanced up, the three of them seemed to be having a lively conversation.

“Well, that’s not at all concernin’,” Bucky said, staring at them, wondering what the hell they were talking about. 

“Hey, boyslut, wanna share the wealth?” Rumlow snapped, shoving Bucky from behind with his bat, getting in a good dig right between Bucky’s shoulder blades. “I mean, I don’t care if you’re sticking it to Stark on the side, but come on, you’re all up in Romanoff’s shorts, too? That’s just greedy.”

“Yeah, they’re totally all mine,” Bucky said, wishing he could rub the sore spot on his back. “After practice, we’re going back to Tony’s place and having an orgy in his hot tub.”

A chorus of snickering from Rumlow’s cronies told him that he’d been overheard. “Gay,” complained Rollins.

“Hey, is that it?” Rumlow asked. “Is Romanoff a fag-hag? That why she keeps turning down all the actual men who ask her out?”

“You asked _Natasha_ out?” Bucky snorted. “Did you leave skid marks when she sent you running for the door? You go on, say that to her face, I fuckin’ _dare you_.”

Rumlow opened his mouth to say something that was no doubt witty and clever, like _fuck you_.

“Barnes! Rumlow! You two need to do another ten laps?” Coach bellowed. “Quit jawin’ and start swinging!”

Batting practice, thank god. Bucky grabbed a trio of bats and moved away from Rumlow enough to swing. And once he was swinging, Rumlow wasn’t stupid enough to come closer. “You think you got some, Rumlow,” he said, over the whistle of the bat. “Wanna try a little pepper pitching, after practice, see if I can’t take you and your cronies all at once?” 

“I got nothin’ to prove to you, fag,” Rumlow snarled, swinging his bat a little too hard, with no control at all. He’d be lucky if his average topped .150 if he didn’t shape up for the season.

“You could just end that sentence early,” Bucky jeered. “You ain’t got nothin’. Nothing.”

“Barnes, you’re up,” Coach yelled. He was doing the pitching, which tended to be the case for batting practice. Later, they’d let Peter Quill on the mound; he needed to practice as well, but mostly, he needed batting practice. He was a shit batter, even if he had a good pitching arm.

Bucky took his place at the plate, leaned into it.

From the on-deck circle, Rumlow started the _hey-batter-batter_ chant, which was picked up by half the team. Coach didn’t put a stop to that, because you had to learn to deal with crowd noise, when you played. It was inevitable.

The whole world narrowed to Coach’s hand on the ball, the way his body leaned, the feel of the bat in his hands. Bucky narrowed his eyes. Laser focus. _Be the ball_.

Bucky hit the ball so hard, the crack of the bat echoed through the mostly empty diamond. He didn’t bother to watch it go, nodding for the next one. One of the waterboys would run around and fetch all the balls and they’d start over again.

Rumlow’s chant died in his throat, and Bucky actually looked.

The ball was -- gone.

Over the fence and _gone_.

“Stop showing off for your fan club,” Ward hissed at him from the sidelines.

Bucky just readied his bat for the next pitch.

He didn’t miss one.

None of the rest of them made it over the fence, but respectable, nonetheless. He put his bat down against the dugout and went to lean against the third base line wall. “Hey guys, what’s with the turnout?”

“It’s a pretty good show,” Tony said. He had his feet up on the bench in front of him and was leaning back casually, watching the batters more than Bucky, with a faint little smile.

“Reconnaissance,” Steve growled. “That asshole--”

“We are here to support you, as good friends do,” Natasha interrupted smoothly. “An excellent showing.”

“So, Rumlow says he asked you out,” Bucky said, casually. “That true? He’s braver than I thought.”

Natasha smirked. “He tried. Every time he opened his mouth, Clint yelled ‘BLAH BLAH BLAH’ until he gave up and went away.”

“That’s hilarious. I’d have paid money -- if I had any -- to see that,” Bucky said.

“Barnes! If you can’t pay attention, you can run laps!” Coach yelled.

Bucky sighed. “Okay, okay. Let me go watch Sitwell try to figure out where the ball is.”

His own personal cheering squad hooted and yelled when he stepped up to bat. They were too far away -- and not numerous enough -- to drown out Rumlow’s crowd’s jeering, but it was nice anyway.

Tony cheered for Rhodes, too, which might have been surprising if Bucky hadn’t been able to remember the future, in which he’d known Rhodes for years, himself. As it was, Bucky could only chuckle at Tony’s increasingly ridiculous pet names. 

"Good practice, Barnes," Coach said as they broke for the showers. Bucky peeled off his jersey on the way into the locker rooms, slick with sweat. 

He grabbed his bucket and towel, headed to the back and turned on the water.

“Think you’d still be Coach’s favorite if he knew you were a sissy fag?” Rollins hissed, pointedly going to the stall as far as possible from Bucky.

"Go ahead and tell him," Bucky invited. "Won't make up for your limp-wristed playing. Maybe if you gripped your bat like you grip your tool, you'd figure out how to hit worth a damn."

“You wanna see how well I can fucking _hit_ , Barnes?” Rollins made a fist. “Come on over here and say it to my face.”

"Your legs ain't broke," Bucky pointed out. Good God he was _asking_ for it, he knew it. But he also knew Steve's wisdom. Once you start running, they never let you stop.

He did a quick sweep of the locker room. Rhodes was coming in, along with Quill. He'd have backup if he needed it. But he could take just Rollins. If he had to. As long as it wasn't four on one.

He waited, but Rollins didn't make a move. Bucky sniffed and turned back to his shower, watching the shapes of the shadow on the wall.

“Hey man, good swinging today,” Rhodes offered, pointedly taking the stall next to Bucky’s. “A little audience gets the blood moving, huh?”

He wondered if this version of Rhodes, with time to figure it out, would shovel talk him. Last time, Jim didn't have time, and later, no inclination.

“Ignore those creeps,” he continued. “They’re just jealous ‘cause they heard the scouters are doing early sweeps next week and they know they’re not even on the list.”

"I think I could do it," Bucky said, encouraged. "Want my chance, at any rate. You know when?"

The last thing he needed would be to be sporting a black eye or something.

Rhodes shook his head. “Next week is all I heard, that they’ll be in town checking all the local teams. Earlier in the week than later, though, ‘cause they’re going to want to have the weekend to crunch numbers before hitting the next town, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, grinning. “That’s my ticket out, you know. Play, professional. Ain’t like I can go to _college_. You’re headed into the military, I hear?”

The conversation flowed around them, with Quill piping up his plans, and Wilson. Rollins continued to glare, but he wasn’t going to do anything, and Bucky kept his eyes scrupulously to himself. No sense letting the sharks smell blood. 

Toweled off and grabbed his street clothes, his hair dripping down his neck and back. “You think the fans will still be there, when we’re done?” Bucky wondered. Natasha hadn’t usually waited, she’d usually been on her way home before he left the showers. But maybe she had something different in mind today.

“Why, you got your eye on one of them?” Rhodes smirked like he knew damn well who Bucky was thinking of.

"Might," Bucky said. He toweled his hair and zipped his jeans. It was still too cold to go out shirtless, but man, he'd love to see Tony's face. He'd always appreciated Bucky's physique and it was top notch right now.

“Just tell me it ain’t Romanoff,” Quill said, tugging his own shirt on over his damp skin. “She’d kill you, and then we’d be without our star player.”

"I can't even begin to figure what sort she'd go for," Bucky was saying as they walked out of the lockers.

And there Tony was, leaning against the wall, looking like he was trying too hard to be cool, and still brushing the edges of it anyway. Steve and Nat were loitering a little ways behind him, chatting.

“Hey, guys,” Tony said, but his eyes lingered on Bucky. “Looking good out there. Championship again this year, you think?”

“Since when do you take an interest?” Rhodes said, poking at Tony’s side the way Bucky poked at Becca when he was trying to be particularly annoying.

“Hey, gotta come out and support my favorite platypus!” Tony protested, squirming in vain to avoid Rhodes’ poking.

“Uh-huh. This is my third year on this team, and I can count on one hand the number of games you’ve come to, nevermind _practices_.”

“Ugh, just shut up, Rhodey.” Tony pouted at his friend, and that really, _really_ should not have been so goddamned cute.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. “Rollins is like to ambush me here, so, thanks for coming out, I appreciate the backup. You guys hungry? I could eat half a cow and it doesn’t even have to stop mooooving.”

“Hell yes,” Rhodes said. “What’s your poison? I could eat damn near anything right now.”

“I’m out,” Quill said. “I’m meeting Gamora for math tutoring.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” Rhodes teased. Quill shoved him, and Rhodes shoved back, good-naturedly tussling until Quill peeled off in another direction.

“Burgers?” Tony said hopefully.

“A man after my own heart,” Bucky replied. “Cheeseburgers. Fries. And a soda I could drown in.”

“You were born hungry, Buck,” Steve said, nudging him. “I swear, I don’t know where it all goes.”

Bucky made an emphatic gesture back toward the baseball field. “Did you not just see the caloric output?” Bucky wanted to put his arm around Tony’s shoulders, like they used to do, but he didn’t. He did, however, settle for walking very close, bumping into him from time to time. Tony skittered away the first time, like Bucky burned him or something, but as Bucky didn’t react badly to the accidental brushes, Tony relaxed a little, and by the time they got to the local burger joint, didn’t even hesitate to smush into the booth next to him. 

Bucky could feel the heat of him, his hip pressed against Tony’s thigh, ankles bumping under the table.

Every bit of his body was entirely aware of Tony, each touch was an electrical thrill. 

From the way he greeted the waitress, Tony had evidently been here a number of times before, and why hadn’t Bucky _known_ that? Maybe he had, but had forgotten? Or had their whirlwind romance been so singularly focused that they’d never actually made time for just... hanging out with friends?

Certainly, they’d never gone out in a group like this, all crowding together at the booth and Steve kicking him from time to time under the table while Bucky tried to figure out how to maximize his allowance to get the most amount of meat on one bun.

Until Tony turned the menu over and grinned. “Bet you can’t.”

Three and a half pounds of cheeseburger, on a bun that was probably over a foot wide. 

_Eat it in an Hour, and it’s Free!!!_ the menu declared in huge, bold letters. If he didn’t finish it in an hour, it’d be almost twenty dollars, which-- “Uh…”

“He’s going to have the Monsterburger,” Tony told the waitress cheerfully. “Put it on my check.”

“You’re going to die young,” Steve said, reading the description, tracing his finger across the menu. “Or we’re going to have to roll you out in a wheelbarrow.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, settling into his chair and taking a sluck off the Coke the waitress had brought him. “Let’s do this thing.”

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1miDJZ7Nxdqo-2kR81KLuvktnt_szUZBb)


	9. Chapter 9

“Come on, come on,” Bucky said, and without thinking about it, he grabbed Tony’s hand as they ran down the hall. Just at the corner of the south hall near the auditorium, Bucky skidded to a halt and Tony practically ran into him. “Go on, get in front, you should see--”

Rumlow had just come in the building; Natasha had waved to him from her lookout position on the ground (and Clint had been spotting from the roof -- Bucky never knew how the fuck he got up there, but whatever) to let them know that Rumlow’s bus had pulled up.

Now, they just needed to wait. Bucky was practically leaning on Tony’s shoulders so he could look and not be spotted from their hiding place.

Tony pressed against the corner and peered around. “Here he comes!” He was pressed against Bucky as they crowded together to try to hide and watch at the same time. “Should’ve rigged some mirrors,” Tony complained. “Ooh, or some video recorders.”

Rumlow practically shoved one of the freshmen out of the way, who had a locker close by. He shifted his bag, opened the locker--

“DON'T TELL MY HEART, MY ACHY BREAKY HEA--”

Rumlow blinked in confusion, looking around, and then shut his locker.

The music cut off. Tony put a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles. Rumlow glared at the gathering crowd, then dialed his locker combination in again.

“DON’T TELL MY HEAR--” Rumlow slammed the locker shut. People in the hall had stopped and were staring. Giggling.

“Shhhhh,” Bucky hissed, not that he was any better. 

“JUST DON’T THINK IT’D UNDERSTAND--”

SLAM!

Rumlow scowled at all the people who’d stopped to stare, and Bucky could see one of the history teachers trying to push through the crowd of students who’d knotted up to gawk, like there was a fight going on.

Rumlow slammed his backpack against the floor, threw the locker door open and Billy Rae Cyrus continued to serenade them at truly ear-splitting levels.

“Here he goes, oh, god,” Bucky said.

Rumlow searched inside his locker, groping around, and then found the speaker Tony had installed. He grabbed it and yanked--

An entire can of Barbasol let loose, spraying all over Rumlow, Rumlow’s locker contents, and the floor.

Tony was practically howling with laughter, but that was okay, because almost everyone else was, too. He grabbed a handful of Bucky’s shirt and leaned into Bucky’s side, as if Bucky was the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the floor. “And the best thing,” he gasped. “The best thing is, he’s got a big test today. Can’t afford to just skip and go home.”

“You’re delightfully evil,” Bucky told him. “Glad you’re on my side.” Tony looked up, and Bucky was suddenly overly aware of how close they were, how he could see every tiny golden fleck in Tony’s eyes, could feel the puff of Tony’s breath against his skin, had his arm around Tony’s waist to keep him upright.

Tony’s cackling died an abrupt and unmourned death.

He stared up into Bucky’s face, his eyes wide. He licked his lips. “Bucky, I...”

Rumlow shouted something profanity-laden and vengeful from the hallway, jerking Bucky’s attention up and away. “This is… not the place,” Bucky said. “Come on, let’s go before he catches us. I don’t think even a teacher could hold him back right now.” He still, or again, had a hold of Tony’s hand, and tugged.

Maybe they could find an abandoned classroom somewhere. Hell, Bucky might even be tempted to drag him into the bathroom at the moment, just to get his mouth on Tony for ten seconds.

They dashed around the far side of the auditorium and came out on the long hall that led to the drama and chorus classrooms. Tony was giggling again a little as they walked up the hall, pretending to look like they’d just come into the building. “The look on his face!”

“I’m more impressed with the amount of shaving cream in his locker,” Bucky said. “How th’ hell did you get the whole thing to depress like that?” Tony started waving both arms around, attempting to explain the mechanism, his eyes practically glowing in the dark.

_There_. The space on the far side of the vending machines was currently unoccupied and could really only be seen if you were getting a drink. “Tony--” Bucky pulled him into the little nook, standing way too close, his toes bracketing Tony’s feet, keeping him pinned in the corner.

“What are y-- oh.” Tony looked up at Bucky again. His hand came up, grabbed a handful of Bucky’s shirt, resting lightly against Bucky’s chest. His skin was flushed already, his breath speeding up. “Yeah,” he breathed, expression full of hunger and longing.

Bucky moved in closer, and when he was a bare inch away from Tony’s mouth, “If you don’t want me to, best say no, right now.” He tipped his head, watching Tony intently, but he didn’t see anything even remotely resembling fear or hesitation.

Heat swirled in his belly, and Bucky lined them up, pressing his mouth over Tony’s lips, letting his eyelids flutter shut, and just feeling. Everything in him was tied up in fever knots, shivering and quaking, his guts wriggling around like a handful of snakes. What was it about this younger body that made everything seem so new and fresh? He’d kissed Tony thousands of times, and yet, it was like the _very first time_.

It _was_ the very first time, all over again. Exciting and amazing, and a little bit terrible, because while Bucky knew how Tony liked to be kissed now, Tony probably _didn’t_. He opened his mouth, but didn’t quite seem to have any idea what to do with his tongue and his hands opened and closed on Bucky’s shirt, tugging it one way and then the other.

Bucky pulled back, ending with a flick of his tongue at the corner of Tony’s mouth, where the sensitive join of his lips were. He was breathing hard, and he decidedly had a _problem_ that could have used a cold shower, or thinking about abstract algebra or something. His dick was so hard it _hurt_.

“Tony--”

Tony pulled him back in. This time was a little better, because Tony had always been a damned fast learner. When he finally broke away again, they were both panting. “Oh my god,” Tony whispered, smiling a little shyly.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, not quite knowing what he was saying. “So, uh, that happened, and-- wow. Yes, okay.”

Tony laughed, just a bit shaky. “Yeah. Yeah, that. That definitely happened, and I-- Was it okay?”

“I just said that,” Bucky said. “Pretty sure that _okay_ was in there, somewhere.” His knees were shaky and he really wanted nothing more than to collapse into a chair, or on a bed, or maybe walk around the corner out of Tony’s sight and do a little gleeful dance.

“Yeah, okay, that’s... That’s good.” Tony grinned, laughing again, though it ended on a rueful groan. “And now we have to go to class.” He pulled a face and wriggled a hand down between them to tug at his jeans and adjust himself.

Bucky followed the movement, helplessly, and made a soft sound as he watched Tony wiggle around. “Jesus,” he said. “You’re still a _menace_.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open in mock indignation. “Me?” he squawked. “What about you, pulling me into dark corners to have your wicked way with me?” His eyes sparkled with humor and wanting.

“I haven’t even _started_ to have my wicked way with you,” Bucky said, leaning over and speaking in a low voice in Tony’s ear. “Have to take a rain check on that one, doll. I haven’t got time to do it proper.”

Which seemed like a good line to leave it on, letting Tony stand there, shivering with what he probably didn’t even know was desire. He didn’t know what he wanted, just that he wanted it.

Perfect.

“I’ll see you after school,” Bucky called back over his shoulder, “Whist today, remember?”

***

Bucky had only seen Stark Mansion a few times before Tony closed up the entire house and moved them into a penthouse condo instead. Too many bad memories, he’d said. Which meant, at least, that Bucky’s gawking at the place wasn’t forced.

Stark Mansion was at least half a city block, square as the same, and rose up with majestic elegance toward the sky.

It was also weirdly uncomfortable, all hard angles and furniture that looked like no one was allowed to touch it, much less sit on it.

The paintings were not too bad; someone with taste had obviously picked them out. “Oh, my god, you have a _Chagall_?” He hadn’t seen that before and wondered when Tony (or Howard) had gotten rid of it. “It’s beautiful.”

Tony glanced at the painting Bucky was gushing over and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t really get art, much.”

“ _If I create from the heart, nearly everything works_ ,” Bucky quoted. “He’s brilliant. I love it.” He would have stood there for a few minutes, gawking, but remembered how frustrated he’d gotten with Steve, and moved back over to Tony’s side. “Do you have a trail of breadcrumbs up to your room? Drop off my stuff and then you can introduce me to Mrs. Jarvis. I brought a deck of cards.” He gave Tony a wink.

Tony rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were a little pink, so Bucky was going to count it as a win. Tony led the way upstairs and down two separate halls and into a bedroom at least twice the size of Bucky’s mom’s, with its own bathroom and a closet big enough to contain furniture. The bed was made, but the desk against the wall was utterly littered with books and scraps of paper and a computer that looked to Bucky’s eyes like an antique but which was probably top of the line for this time. A sheet of paper had been pinned over the desk with “DO NOT CLEAN” written in fat marker letters.

“So, uh, this is where all your engineering magic happens?” Bucky wondered. He put his backpack down carefully by the door, utterly aware of how shabby it was. The decor in Tony’s room was rather spartan, sheets and bedspread and carpet and drapes all utilitarian and utterly without personality. Tony always did live more in his head than in a place where he wanted colors and textures.

Tony had explained it once, that his brain couldn’t help but analyze patterns. Stuff like weaving and complicated carpets could distract him so much, thinking about how it was made, and how to go about that more efficiently. It made for a somewhat dull background for the rest of the world, but Bucky understood. Clean, single color walls, shiny chrome, sometimes a rich, wooden accent piece. Ultra modern, and weirdly like an old mechanics’ shop at the same time.

“I dunno about _magic_ ,” Tony said. “My mom says it’s more like _mess_. But yeah, I do some of my work in here. The stuff that doesn’t need an actual workshop. Schematics and stuff.”

“Heh, you haven’t seen my room,” Bucky said. “If your mom thinks _this_ is a mess, she’d promptly have a heart attack and die at my room.” He looked around. Tony obviously didn’t have friends over in his room much -- or at all -- or maybe Jim was just used to sitting on the bed, because aside from Tony’s computer chair, there was nothing in range to sit on and have a conversation.

He perched on the very edge, waiting to see if Tony would object, and then glanced up.

“You have constellation stickers,” Bucky pointed out, as if Tony hadn’t noticed them. They were well done, probably not visible from other points in the room unless you were specifically looking for them. “Glow in the dark?”

“Of course,” Tony said. “What’s the point, otherwise? Paint, not stickers. It took me _forever_ to get them laid out right.”

“Nice,” Bucky said, and he kicked off his ancient sneakers, laying back on the bed to look up. Tony’s bed was… ridiculously comfortable. It wasn’t quite as nice as the bed they would have, someday, but it was certainly better than Bucky’s damn sofa. He left enough space on the side for Tony to join him, if he wanted, and squinted up at the ceiling. “Real nice-- I could just fall asleep, my god, how do you get out of bed in the morning, this is sinful.”

Tony laughed. “It’s an effort of will. And coffee.” He came over and sat on the side of the bed that Bucky had left open for him, but didn’t lie down, just leaned back on his hands. “Rhodey thinks I should get some posters or something for the walls. Classic cars, maybe.”

“Giant schematics of the Death Star,” Bucky agreed. “Whatever rocks your world. Posters of your favorite baseball player, maybe.” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows. “My sisters’ room is covered with ripped out pictures from Teen Bop magazine on one side and Strawberry Shortcake on the other. It’s painful on the eyes. Actively painful.”

Tony hummed a little. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters,” he noted. “Always wondered what it would be like.”

“Loud,” Bucky said. “And right now I’ve been annoying Becca -- she’s only a few years younger than me -- by being overly nice to her. She keeps waiting for me to drop the other one. And, of course, we all spoil Rachel. She’s the baby. I mean, not much anymore, she’s six. But... my dad left us when Ma said she was pregnant again, and you know, we all make much of her.”

“Yeah?” Tony smiled a little. “That’s kind of nice. Jarvis and Ana are pretty much all I’ve got in the way of other family, and they’re more like... uncle and aunt.”

And Obadiah Stane, Bucky knew, but he didn’t say. Because how would he know that? _You’ve always been mature for your age, Tony, m’boy, so yes, I’ll sign the paperwork. Get you settled down, make up for something you’ve lost._

Looking back on it, he wondered if Stane hadn’t been manipulating Tony from the very beginning, convincing him to marry at just past sixteen. Before college, even. They’d both gone off to Boston the next year, and Bucky started the long process of recovering from his injury while keeping Tony’s schedule, and making sure he got up to go to class. Like some sort of surrogate mom, or a housekeeper.

It wasn’t work that society put much value on, even when that person was a woman. As a man, being a househusband, Bucky’d pretty much secured his place in society as some sort of gold-digging leech.

He sighed. 

That wasn’t Tony’s fault.

“So, what do you want to do?” he asked, trying to bring up his mood. “I mean, I know you’ve got early acceptance, what are-- what are your plans, for school?”

“MIT,” Tony said. “Dad wants me to do the business school, get an MBA so I can come home and help run the company.” He pulled a face. “Boring. I kind of want to get a degree in robotics.”

“What, like R2-D2?” Bucky rolled onto his side, bouncing Tony a little on the bed. He’d seen a few of Tony’s old robots, but they’d been quiet for years, not charged. Covered with dropcloths in the garage, like some of Tony’s cars. Tony couldn’t bear to get rid of them, but he didn’t have time to work on them anymore. “Have you made one? I used to have an old Teddy Ruxpin thing, a long time ago, asked questions and stuff, but it was just a fancy 8-track player that moved a little bit.”

“Oh, I should totally take you down to the workshop and introduce you to DUM-E,” Tony said, perking up.

“Sure,” Bucky said, agreeably. “I’m entirely at your mercy, this afternoon. Whatever you want to do.” God, he’d missed this Tony. Enthusiastic, inventive, friendly without pretense. Eager to please, delighted to show off. Not the showman, not the professional. This… this one. “Show me your dummy.”

Tony bounced up and offered a hand to help pull Bucky back off the bed. “He’s not the _best_ robot ever,” Tony hedged. “But I think he’s kind of cool. Like a particularly dumb pet.”

Bucky let his fingertips brush against Tony’s wrist as he stood. “Okay. One robot viewing, and then whist. I promised Mr. Jarvis, and it seems like he’s the one who says whether or not I can come over again.”

Tony pouted briefly, but then bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the point. “Yeah, okay. Maybe Ana made cookies! That’d be worth spending a couple of hours learning old-people card games.” He led them back through the halls and down into the basement -- or, given the smaller size of the space, _a_ basement -- that was even more cluttered than Tony’s desk. DUM-E came rolling out of the corner as soon as Tony flicked on the lights, claw/arm/head bobbing in excitement.

“Okay, so this is DUM-E,” Tony told Bucky, and he held up a hand that DUM-E carefully high-fived. “Sadly, that’s about all he’s good for.”

“He’s not _dumb_ ,” Bucky said, patting the robot’s strut. “He’s _amazing_.” The ‘bot was huge, bigger than Bucky remembered. Tony had always talked about him like he was a dog, and so in Bucky’s memory, he’d gotten smaller. Bucky grinned at the ‘bot. “Yeah, look at that grabby-claw, you could totally hand Tony a wrench, right?” Bucky plucked a pencil nub out of his pocket and offered it to DUM-E. “Can he hear me? Or you, I suppose--” He turned to look while he was talking to Tony.

“Yeah, he’s got a mic so he can interpret commands, but right now his vocabulary is pretty limited.” While Tony was talking, DUM-E leaned forward and delicately plucked the pencil out of Bucky’s fingers.

“Nicely done,” Bucky told DUM-E. “Good boy.” He watched, grinning the whole time, as DUM-E waved the pencil around like a flag. “This is great! I mean, I know coding always takes longer than you expect, but what are your plans for upgrades?” Bucky held his hand out, flat-- he remembered that DUM-E’s fine motor control wasn’t always so great and he didn’t want the pencil shoved through his hand. “Can you give it back?” 

DUM-E paused for a moment, as if thinking about it, then abruptly turned around and rolled away.

“DUM-E! You useless hunk of tin, give it-- _drop it!_ ” Tony sighed and stalked after the ‘bot. “Come on, give it up! I swear, I’m going to donate you to a community college shop class!” It took him a minute or so of wrestling with the bot before he was able to retrieve the pencil. “He’s kind of a disaster,” he said apologetically.

Bucky cackled, holding on to one of Tony’s workbenches for balance. Watching Tony chase his ‘bot around was delightful, Tony a mix of chagrin and frustration and amusement, DUM-E acting like a stubborn three-year old with a toy they wanted at the grocery store. “You’re incredible,” Bucky said, and he wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to. “I ain’t laughing at you, Tony.” He held up his hands in surrender. “It’s super cute.”

“Yeah?” Tony glanced back at DUM-E, pride shining through his embarrassment and annoyance. “He’s no R2-D2, but for a first effort, he’s not too bad.” He handed over Bucky’s pencil. “Come on, let’s go find Jarvis and play some whist.”

“He’s the best,” Bucky said, and slid an arm around Tony’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze. _And I am so stupidly in love with you._

Whist was not a difficult game, really. Somewhat less complicated than bridge, in that bidding wasn’t allowed, and there was no sneaky bluffing conversation allowed between partners. Bucky and Jarvis bickered for a while about the rules -- enough variants on whist existed to make it necessary to nail down which sets of rules they were using, and Bucky thought Jarvis was going to explode with pride when Bucky quoted _Cavendish On Whist_ to defend the lack of honours used, even when they were just _teaching_ Tony.

‘Honours puts the game almost entirely into chance’s hands,” Bucky said. 

“I believe you will find that young master Stark can count cards,” Jarvis cautioned.

Bucky shuffled the cards. “So can I.”

Tony suffered their instruction with a sort of tolerant, amused air. He made several rookie mistakes in the first hand, was noticeably improved by the third, and by the fifth was well on his way to mastery. “Bucky’s right,” he said, his long, dextrous fingers pulling Bucky’s gaze as he shuffled the deck. “Too much chance involved, and counting cards is _boring_.”

Ana Jarvis had made up a complete tea tray, and Bucky made a friend for life by enjoying, obviously, her dainties and date-cake. God, he’d missed Ana’s cooking. She’d passed on -- in Bucky’s timeline -- about ten years ago, and Jarvis not long after, following his beloved wife into the next great adventure.

By the time they’d played through ten full rounds, Tony had everyone sharpening their game to keep up. Still, Ana and Jarvis played like a couple with long-standing telepathy, and Bucky and Tony managed to scrape by a not-terrible showing, 6 games to 4.

“Okay, that was more fun than I expected,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair and stretching heroically, spine crackling. “But I think that’s enough for one day.”

Bucky nodded, snitching the last dainty off the tea tray. “This was delicious, Mrs. Jarvis, thanks so much.”

Ana Jarvis gave him a gimlet stare, then beamed. “You can call me Ana,” she invited, “and you’re welcome in my kitchen at any time.”

“High praise,” Tony informed Bucky. “She guards her kitchen with all the fervor of a crusading knight.”

“How would you know?” Bucky asked. “You were practically raised here, I can tell.” Bucky folded his cards carefully back into a handkerchief and tied it in a knot. “I can’t stay too much longer, gotta be home an’ help with chores. But this was fun, Ana. Mr. Jarvis.” He grinned at Tony. “My pack’s still up in your room.”

“Yeah, come on; we’ll take the back stairs. It’s faster.” Tony bent over to kiss Ana’s cheek, then dashed for a door at the back of the kitchen.

There was something about that, about Tony _running_ , that made Bucky want to _chase_ him. And since they were kids, and adults would greet them with nothing worse than “no running in the house,” he did.

Maybe there was something mock-menacing in Bucky’s expression, or Tony enjoyed the chase as much as Bucky did, but Tony shot one look at Bucky, yelped, and ran _faster_. Bucky gave a cheerful shout and pursued. “No use tryin’ to get away,” he called.

“Says you!” Tony shouted back, and barreled around a corner.

The chase led them all over the house, practically, up and down stairs, through long hallways, and across one actual indoor balcony, before they finally wound up back at Tony’s room, panting for breath and sweaty and laughing. 

Bucky grabbed Tony around the middle and picked him up like a sack of potatoes. “Gotcha.”

Tony shouted, laughing and squirming but not, Bucky noticed, trying very hard to actually get away. “Put me down!”

“Nope, I think I’ll keep you,” Bucky threatened, and then his heart squeezed around the fact that he _would_. He could no longer keep himself away from Tony, he wasn’t even trying, and he was going to go right back to the way things had been. With a heave, he dumped Tony onto the bed, watching him bounce. He sat down, trying to find his center again, to catch his breath, and to realize that he was, in fact, choosing to stay, choosing to be with Tony, figure it out, work it out. 

Make it better.

“Huh,” he said, not entirely talking to Tony, but the thoughts were too big to keep entirely inside.

Tony rolled onto his side, looking up at Bucky. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I--” Bucky said. “Mighta just had myself a thought. I don’t get them very often, so I have to sit down and examine it, once I think it up.”

Tony snorted. “You know I’m not buying the whole ‘dumb jock’ thing anymore, right?”

“No, I mean,” Bucky said, although that was kind of true. Tony had been the smart one in their relationship, and Bucky had let himself be intimidated by it. Let Tony outshine him, which was fine, of course Tony needed the light, but Bucky had-- hidden himself, maybe. A little. Pretending he wasn’t of value, so that it didn’t hurt when other people ignored him. “I just-- you ever have those moments where you just see things, so clear, it’s like they’re really there, your thought, become fact?”

“Mm, sometimes,” Tony said. “I’ve been known to get up in the middle of the night because I have to write it all down before it fades again, and the next thing I know it’s morning.”

“I think,” Bucky said, “that I might, you know, _like_ you.” Which didn’t even start to sum it up, but it was too much, and too sudden, and the last thing he needed to do right now was scare Tony off, now that they had a whole different chance. And then he thought that maybe that was exactly right. He liked Tony. Not just loved him, but _liked_ him. Wanted to spend time with him, get to know him all over again, when he was young, before everything bad happened. Before he grew up, grew away.

Tony tipped his head, then grinned. “Yeah, but do you _like_ -like me?” He held his hands up to make a frame. “Check Yes or No.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and he knew that his heart was in his eyes, on his sleeve. He was putting it out there, for Tony. “Yeah, I think I just might.”

Tony sat up. “Good. I like you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Achy Breaky Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byQIPdHMpjc).  
> [Teddy Ruxpin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teddy_Ruxpin).


	10. Chapter 10

If Bucky could have sat on his home phone, he might have. The talent scout had actually, after the last practice, come up to Bucky with a card and some questions, and a possible invitation to come play at an exhibition game next month, and had promised to give Buck a call and work out the details.

On top of that, Tony was either calling him, or expected him to call, every few days, and they mostly talked about the little things that happened between school and home.

Bucky didn’t know how he ended up acting like a kid over the phone, wanting to stay on the line for hours while Tony jabbered on about programming ideas for DUM-E or whatever Ana was making for dinner, or the suit-fitting his mother made him go to, which was annoying, and he was positive that the tailor had stabbed him. Twice. On purpose.

But he did still have homework and chores and he couldn’t be watching the phone all the time, which was making him just a little bit crazy, because they had an answering machine, but it was old and sometimes it wouldn’t record the message, or sometimes the stretched out tape just kept rolling and while the first person could leave a message, the second person to call wouldn’t get through.

Which meant every single day when he got home, he annoyed his sister by asking if anyone at all had called.

She said no often enough that Bucky wasn’t sure he trusted her.

Until one Sunday, about two weeks after the scouting, she said, “Yeah, some guy called. I wrote the number down. Said it was important.”

Bucky squinted at the number. It was a local one, but maybe that was okay. He didn’t know where the scout would call from; it would make sense to have some sort of local office, wouldn’t it? No name. “Did he say who he was?”

“No, idiot,” Becca said, rolling her eyes. “He just said for you to call him.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Do I look like your secretary?”

“When I get called up to the majors and am rich and famous,” Bucky said, “I am not going to buy you _anything_.” Liar.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves and then punched in the number.

The voice that answered the phone was disappointingly familiar.

“Rumlow residence,” Brock said, practically growling into the phone.

Bucky hitched in a breath, then panicked and hung up.

Becca raised her eyebrows at him. “If it’s important, shouldn’t you at least say hi?”

Bucky was just about to say it wasn’t important at all -- whatever Rumlow wanted, taking the time to figure out Bucky’s phone number wasn’t a good sign -- when the phone rang under his hand. He snatched his hand back like the phone was a snake about to bite him.

Becca huffed. “Answer it, dummy.”

For a moment, he was tempted to shove the phone at Becca and tell her to tell Rumlow that he wasn’t home, but-- “Barnes, go,” he said, picking up the line. He made a fierce shooing gesture at his sister. _Go away, infant._

Becca gathered up her books with agonizing slowness, pointedly listening in.

“Barnes,” Brock said. “Been trying to get in touch all afternoon.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Bucky said. “Spit it out, what do you want?”

“And here I am, doing the friendly thing, lettin’ you know your little boytoy’s steppin’ out on you.”

“The day I believe you’d do anything as a friendly gesture,” Bucky started, hotly, then-- “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Tony Stark with his tongue down Hope Pym’s throat,” Rumlow said, his habitual growl a low purr of satisfaction.

Something in Bucky’s stomach turned to ice. “You don’t really strike me as someone Tony would confide in. You have proof, or are you just blowing smoke up my ass?”

Across the room from him, Becca’s eyes got huge, a mix of disapproval and a reluctant sort of glee at the same time on her face.

“Hey, you don’t gotta take my word for it, man,” Rumlow purred. “It’s right there on the front page of the Society section, a big ol’ picture and a lot of speculation about the merging of the empires or some bullshit like that.”

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. “Right,” he said. “Because you’re a high society sort of guy, I can just see you thumbing through the papers, lookin’ at all the dresses. Did you see anything you’d like to try on?”

“Wouldn’t mind trying on Hope Pym,” Rumlow leered. “Bet she fits _just_ right. But it looks like someone’s already wearin’ her.”

“Oh, get bent, Rumlow,” Bucky snapped and hung up again, keeping his hand on the phone in case Rumlow tried to dial him back _again_. He stood there, blankly staring at the phone. Picked it up, and dialed. “Information, yes, can you get me a number for Romanoff. No, wait, her foster father’s name is Ivan Petrovich, can-- yes, thank you.” 

Bucky jotted the number down, then called. Please be home, please be home, please be--

“Hello?” Natasha, thank _god_.

“Natasha, it’s Bucky,” Bucky said. “Are you-- uh, busy?”

She said something that sounded muffled, as if she’d put her hand over the receiver, and then came back on the line. “I can be not-busy. What’s up?”

“Rumlow called me,” Bucky said, “an’ told me that Tony’s got a girlfriend, and if I don’t believe him, it’s in the papers. I… we don’t, you know, get the paper, so I need to go look, but I also don’t trust Rumlow as far as I can throw him. He might be makin’ shit up just to get me out of the house and down the block.”

“He is not to be trusted,” Natasha agreed. “Wait; I will get our paper and see.”

Bucky could hear people talking when Natasha put down the phone, but they weren’t speaking English. Russian, he thought, maybe, but it did mean he couldn’t listen in on whatever was going on at the other end of the line.

Now that he thought about it, he really didn’t know much about Natasha’s homelife, only that she’d said her mother died shortly after delivering Natasha, and that she had a foster father, but no blood relatives that she knew of. She didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Bucky wondered for a bit, how different every single one of their homelives were, and how they were all still bonding together, despite the differences.

Natasha came back; Bucky heard her pick up the phone, the quick whisper of her breath, but she didn’t speak for such a long time that Bucky knew, he knew dammit, what she was going to say.

“There is certainly... _something_ going on here,” she said carefully. “It is definitely Tony, in this picture.”

“What picture?” Bucky asked breathlessly, unable to stay standing any longer. He barely remembered to grab the phone before collapsing onto the sofa. “Nat--” The way his voice sounded, jittery and on the verge of bursting into tears, made him almost angry in a way.

Was it really always there, all along, and he just wanted to pretend that Tony wasn’t like that, that Tony… cared about Bucky’s feelings at all.

Had Tony been lying, the whole time?

“It looks like some high society event. He is... dancing. With a girl. The captions say it is Hope Pym, but her face is. Not visible.” Natasha sounded awful and stilted, as if she were very carefully walking around something.

“Right,” Bucky said. “Because Tony’s kissing her. That’s what--” Fuck, why did it have to be _Rumlow_ who told him about it?

Why the hell had Rumlow even known about it, why was he reading Society papers at all.

“Bucky,” Natasha said gently. “You should ask Tony about it. There must be some explanation.”

“An’ maybe there’s not,” Bucky said. “Maybe Tony just likes _smart_ people. Maybe he just-- I mean, we’re not. One date does not make _dating_. Tony and I ain’t even done that much, jus’... a little messing around, not even that much. It’s fine. I don’t… I don’t need to ask him about it.”

The last thing he wanted was this version of Tony, this extremely sincere version, to fucking lie to him, right to his face.

Bucky didn’t know that he could stand that.

“It is _not_ fine,” Natasha said sharply. “Obviously, because you are upset. Talk to him.”

“Can you, uh, bring the picture in, tomorrow?” Bucky asked. He didn’t know if he wanted to see it. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to see it. But he was also certain that he was going to see it. Rumlow would shove it in his face, if nothing else. And he wanted to see it where he could have his first reaction to it privately, or at least in front of someone he trusted.

He trusted Natasha, trusted her to be open, honest, to let himself feel in front of her and not feel embarrassed about it. Mostly.

“If I say no, you are going to go out and buy a paper anyway, aren’t you?” She sighed. “Fine. But only if you promise you will _talk_ to him.”

“If it’s that bad, ain’t like I won’t see it, eventually,” Bucky pointed out. “I’ll try to talk to him, okay?”

“Okay,” Natasha said with obvious reluctance. “I will bring this picture. But you do not wish to see it.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Bucky said. “But I think I used up all my wishes already. Goodnight, Nat. You’re a good friend.”

And he hung up, very gently.

What the hell was he going to do _now_?

* * *

Natasha had been on the money.

Bucky did not want to see this picture. Of course, now that he had seen it, he couldn’t unsee it, either.

Hope’s arms were twined around Tony’s neck and she was quite clearly leaning heavily into him, pressed close from shoulder to knee. He could only see the back of her head, but it was tilted enough that there was no question about Tony’s identity, and they were quite clearly kissing. And not a friendly little high-society peck of a greeting, but _kissing_. She was wearing a low-backed dress, and Tony’s hand was resting in the small of her back, two fingers tucked beneath the material of the dress.

“Yeah.” Bucky said. “Early drunks, my ass.”

“You will talk to him,” Natasha reminded him. “If... At least, if it is as it seems, you will _know_.”

“I already know,” Bucky said. “There’s no… explanation for this, ain’t like it’s _photoshopped_. Is that even something they can do these days, I don’t remember.”

Natasha gave him a dry look. “Doctoring photos goes back to the invention of the medium,” she told him. “And we have Photoshop.”

“Can’t see why anyone would bother,” Bucky said. “Speculation aside, ain’t like Tony’s grown up enough to _merge the empires_.” He made air quotes around the article’s title.

“You know these sections are not real news,” Natasha reminded him. “It is all gossip and speculation and even more speculation and gossip. Whole pages of it are made up entirely.”

“And he’s still-- _shoving his tongue down her throat,”_ Bucky hissed, stabbing one finger at the image. All of his rage burned out. “I don’t even know why it matters. Ain’t like Tony’s made any promises to me. Yet. He-- says he likes me. That don’t mean shit and we both know it.”

“He _does_ like you,” Natasha said. “I have _seen_ it, the way he looks at you. This is...” She waved at the torn-out page of newspaper in Bucky’s hand. “This is _wrong._ ”

“He could,” Bucky said. “But that don’t mean this is wrong, either. This is society, which I ain’t. Nothin’ wrong, for swells, with keeping a side piece. Which… I mean, no one expects anything from me an’ him.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “You do.”

Bucky touched the picture with his finger, wondering if Tony’s face looked like that when Bucky kissed him. “Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe,” Natasha said, “you should let Tony know what’s on your mind.”

The sound of running footsteps interrupted whatever Bucky was going to say. “Bucky!” Tony. Of course. He ran up to them, breathless and wide-eyed. “Bucky, shit, I’ve been looking for you _everywhere_ , I need to tell you--” He spotted the newspaper page in Bucky’s hand and stumbled to a halt, skin turning pale. “You’ve seen it.”

"Yeah," Bucky said, "heard it yesterday. People thought that I needed to hear about it _yesterday_." He was not going to help Tony here. He'd known that Tony liked Hope back in school, but… this was a little more than just _like_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony breathed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then looked up at Bucky again earnestly. “I know it looks bad, and this is going to _sound_ stupid and cliché, but _it’s not what it looks like_.” He glanced down at the picture, grimaced, and said, “I mean, it’s--” He stopped, examining Bucky’s face minutely. “Will you let me explain, or are you so pissed you never want to talk to me again?”

"You never made any promises to me," Bucky said. "It's not my business if you want to trade spit with Hope Pym. Lemme guess? A couple of early drunks shoved her into you."

That brought Tony up short, and he blinked in confusion. “What? No. It was... You know about debut, right? It’s totally lame, the stupidest thing, but it’s also a fancy party and new clothes and expensive gifts, so girls don’t exactly turn it down, either. So that--” He waved at the paper. “--was Hope’s debut. And we go to school together, so she invited me, even though her dad _hates_ my dad. And there was this guy -- these things are totally skeezy meat markets to some of the guys, like, looking for trophy wives and stuff?” He grimaced in distaste. “There was this guy perving on Hope, like seriously feeling her up on the dance floor in front of everyone, it was gross. So I cut in. Maybe acted a little bit like an offended boyfriend, just to get the guy to back off. And the song ended and she begged me to go another round because she was so sick of the pervs and marriage-market douchebags, so I said okay. And then like halfway through, she just... planted one on me.” He waved at the paper again. “I didn’t... I didn’t push her off, because you don’t _do_ that, it’s a whole... culture thing, kinda?”

Tony rubbed at his face, looking tired. “I didn’t know about the picture until yesterday morning, when we got the paper. And then I kinda got in a fight with my dad and he took away my phone privileges and everything so I couldn’t call you. And I know, I _know_ what it looks like, but me and Hope, we’re not like that, I don’t like her like that, I don’t even _know_ why she kissed me, if she was trying to piss off her dad because I’m a Stark, or send a message to the pervs, or... whatever. But it’s not like that, I _promise_.” He looked at Bucky, pleading, almost desperate.

"Mmm," Bucky said. He glanced back at the picture. "Sure looks like--" He sighed. "Tony, you don't owe me nothin'. We ain't dating."

He couldn't help but look up at Tony's face, not duplicitous or even like he thought he was pulling a fast one. Or had gotten caught in a mistake. Bucky's dad had made mistakes. That's what he'd always told Ma. It was a mistake. Right up until he’d left with one. "I mean. We're not. Are we?"

“No...” Tony said slowly. “But I kinda thought it was... you know. Going that way. Maybe?” He bit his lip, and the pallor was turning into a flush now.

"Might have done," Bucky agreed. "This ain't… I ain't even in your weight class. No one's ever gonna think I'm anything to you but a leech. This is what they want to see." He brandished the paper at Tony, at the school in general. "I don't know if I can forget this happened. I don't want to be like my Ma."

Tony looked stricken, his eyes turning liquid with tears that didn’t quite spill over, but he pressed his lips together and nodded. “That’s. That’s fair, I guess. I’m... I’m sorry you feel like you can’t trust me.” He backed away a step, started to turn, then looked back. “Isn’t there anything I can do, so you’d believe me?”

“God, I am a _sucker_ for those big brown eyes of yours, Tony,” Bucky groaned, grabbing his wrist and keeping him from walking away. “You understand, right, how important this is t’ me? You’re gonna break my heart, you know that, right?” 

“I don’t _want_ to break your heart,” Tony said. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.” He wiped at his eyes impatiently. “I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you. That would be stupid. But I wouldn’t _cheat_. That’s just low.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “An’, you know, like I said, you don’t owe me anything. Not now, not yet. But Tony, this-- I can’t do it again. You want t’ be with me, then you’re gonna do that. No… no second chances, not for this. That’s all I’ll ever ask. Just me. Only me. Like you’re th’ only one for me.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s time for first bell. You think about that, and if… if that ain’t what you want, don’t meet me for lunch, an’ I won’t bother you again.”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again and nodded. “I’ll think about it. And I’ll see you later.” He glanced around quickly, then leaned up to peck Bucky’s cheek before skipping back a couple of steps and heading off toward class.

“Not bad,” Natasha said.

Bucky had completely forgotten that she was right there. “Holy shit, you cold war spy chick! Don’t you know it’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations?”

“I was standing right here the whole time,” she pointed out, smiling smugly. “It’s not my fault you two are so wrapped up in each other you don’t even see me.”

He looked back at Tony, who kept throwing glances over his shoulder to see if Bucky was looking back at him, which was making Tony just about walk into walls before someone gently squared Tony’s shoulders for him and shoved him around the corner. “Do you think any of that was real? That he meant it?”

“He seemed very sincere to me.” Natasha considered him. “Do you want me to get the rundown on Hope? You are a friend; no charge.”

"I shudder to think what your going rate is," Bucky said, "but yeah. Find out what's going on. If I'm expected to fight for Tony's affections, best know it now." He wasn't sure he could keep them if it came down to an ultimatum, but at least he'd know.

Natasha tossed him a mock-salute. “I’ll fill you in on what I find after practice today.” The warning bell rang, and she jogged off toward her class.

Bucky went to class, trying to ignore the multiple copies of the paper. Rumlow had been busy letting everyone know. Or Bucky's non-existent sex life was still more interesting than Friday night prime time TV.

As soon as he sat down in Chemistry -- mere seconds before the bell -- Steve leaned over and whispered, “What’s going on with you and Tony?”

Bucky restrained himself from shoving Steve right off his stool. “Nothin’,” he said. “Yet. Why, what have you heard?”

Steve snorted. “What _haven’t_ I heard? You guys are together. You _were_ together but are broken up now. Tony dumped you for Hope Pym. Tony _cheated_ on you with Hope. You’re having wild orgies with him and Hope -- which, I tried to tell that guy that three people is not an _orgy_ , but he wasn’t listening. So what’s going on?”

“I ain’t sure, yet,” Bucky said, because that was true. “Tony’s… deciding.”

Steve frowned. “Why’s Tony get to decide anything, if he’s the one who got caught out?”

_Because I’m already decided_ , Bucky thought, but didn’t say. “He’s th’ one with the decision to be made. If he wants Hope, I ain’t gonna get in the way of that.”

Steve scowled harder. “He’d better not be that stupid.”

“It’s not-- ain’t a matter of stupid, Stevie,” Bucky told him. “Hope’s smart, she’s rich, she’s right up there, on Tony’s level. Exactly where I ain’t. There’s a lot of reasons why he should go for her, if he likes her, instead of me.”

Steve huffed. “If he can’t see you’re the better choice,” he said loyally, “then he ain’t worth your time.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “If he goes for Hope, I jus’ won’t worry about it anymore. Hopin’ that scout’ll call me back about an exhibition game.” Bucky turned the conversation because he really did not want to think about what he would do if Tony turned him down at this point. He’d given up thinking about trying for someone else. Maybe he should just concentrate on baseball. Maybe that was his second chance.

Steve let Bucky divert the conversation, either out of pity or because he was, after all, almost as much of a baseball nerd as Bucky, and they spent the rest of the class mostly ignoring the teacher and dissecting Bucky’s stats so far for the season.

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky said, as they separated for their next class.

And then after that, it was lunch time. Bucky took a deep breath before heading off to Natasha’s table.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky reminded himself to be cool as he rounded the corner into the cafeteria. Tony often came in later than Bucky, having stayed behind in class to talk to the teacher or wrap up a bit of work. It wouldn’t mean anything, he told himself, if Tony wasn’t there yet. It didn’t necessarily mean anything right away.

A gaggle of cheerleaders pressed past as Bucky came into the cafeteria, obscuring his view, but then they passed and--

Tony was there. He was sitting at the table, leaning on his elbows and talking earnestly to Natasha, who was listening to whatever he was saying with a slight frown.

He was _there_.

Bucky did not, he told himself sternly, nearly swoon like a heroine in a bodice ripper novel. That didn’t happen.

Tony glanced around idly, and then his eyes locked onto Bucky and he smiled, almost shyly, as if not entirely certain that Bucky would accept his choice.

Bucky tossed his bag down under the table and straddled the stool next to Tony’s. “Hey, Nat. Tony. Is the gossip always this crazy and I just wasn’t payin’ attention before?”

“Yes,” Natasha said firmly. “You are only noticing now because it is you at the center of the maelstrom.”

“Hi,” Tony said softly, and under the table, Tony’s foot nudged at Bucky’s ankle.

“You’re probably right, I always had better sense’n to listen to gossip,” Bucky said, and he even mostly thought that was true. He didn’t remember listening to gossip before, either. “Hey, Tony.” He dug around in his pocket for a handful of coins. “Natasha, can you-- go get me a milk, please?” That was as close as he was going to get to _go away while I talk privately, you nosy wench_. Because Bucky was smart that way and liked having all his limbs attached.

Natasha pouted a little, knowing exactly what he was doing, but she took the change and headed toward the food lines.

Tony watched him, wary and hopeful.

“So-- uh, you’re here, then,” Bucky said, because he wasn’t quite sure how to say it. “I’m glad. It’s uh. Kinda been a long day, you know. Seems like I was lookin’ at the clock every five years to see only two minutes gone by. Didn’t know if you’d… be here. If I was bein’ unreasonable or unfair, or whatever. But-- I like you, Tony. I really do.”

“I like you, too,” Tony said. “And I don’t-- I mean, I do like Hope, but I don’t _like_ her, like her.” He grimaced. “Could I sound more like a fourth grader?” He shook his head. “I like you, I want... I want to date you. If that’s okay with you. I’m not... I’m _not_ going to cheat on you,” he said, low and fervent. “Not going to promise to be together forever; that’s just dumb. We’re in _high school_. But if the day comes when I want someone else more than I want you, I’ll have the decency to break up first. That’s, you know, a really low bar to set.”

“You’d think so, but it don’t always seem to be,” Bucky said. It was like putting his hand into a fire, terrified he was going to get burned, but under the table, he reached out and found Tony’s hand, laced their fingers together. “I’d… I’d like to date.”

Tony’s hand was warm, and it felt just right in Bucky’s. He squeezed Bucky’s hand gently, and blew out a breath. “Good. Okay. Yes.”

“And just so we’re clear,” Natasha said, dropping a chocolate milk on the table in front of him. “This is not a case of one-date-does-not-equal-dating. You are _dating_. We are clear?”

“Yes, Natasha,” Tony said dutifully. Under the table, he squeezed Bucky’s hand again.

Bucky didn’t quite understand why he felt so satisfied, not for a long time. Probably because he couldn’t concentrate on it. Every time he tried to chase the thought down, Tony shifted a little bit, their thighs brushed together sometimes, or his fingers twitched, or they were both struggling to eat one handed, but didn’t want to let go. And that was distracting as hell, and it shouldn’t have been. He’d done so many more intimate and lascivious things to Tony aside from _hold his hand,_ and yet, it was still making knots in his belly.

But this time, he eventually concluded, he’d given Tony every possible opportunity to pick someone else. To go with someone else, to be with someone else. And he’d still picked Bucky.

Maybe, maybe their desperate, needing-someone start wasn’t all they had. It wasn’t actually the basis of their entire relationship. There was something else that they could build on, aside from tragedy.

Maybe. If the world gave them enough time.

When the bell rang, Tony reluctantly let go of Bucky’s hand, but bumped shoulders with Bucky as they got up to throw away their trash. “Want to come over and do homework at my place, after practice? You can stay for dinner.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll have to call the babysitter and get her to hold Rach for a bit longer, but it’s usually okay. Or Becca can watch her. I’ll let you know after practice?” Bucky looked around, but there were entirely too many people watching them to actually drag Tony off into a corner somewhere.

Honestly, Bucky needed to get a hold of these wild emotions anyway, before he did something impetuous and crazy.

Tony nodded quickly. “Yeah, right, I almost forgot about your sisters. We can do another day or something if today doesn’t work. I just...” He grinned at Bucky a little sheepishly. “Want you to myself for a little while.”

“Don’t mind that idea one bit,” Bucky said. “Just have to make arrangements. It’ll be okay. Becca will make me do her share of dishes for a week, it’ll be fine.” He touched Tony’s jaw, and then dashed off to class. 

* * *

True to Bucky’s prediction, Becca did barter away a week’s worth of dishes, plus taking the trash down, and the hoovering, but she did finally agree. Bucky spent all of practice vibrating between utter joy and shattering nervousness, because lying was a thing, and Tony was particularly good at it when he wanted to be.

After practice, Nat cornered him as he was coming out of the locker room. “Did it happen before?” she asked. “This thing with Hope?”

Bucky’s guts turned to icy wasps, stinging and fluttering. “There were rumors,” he admitted. “I mean-- yeah, I think it did. Tony an’ I… we weren’t friends or nothin’, he didn’t talk to me about it.” 

That had been still a good month before Bucky even noticed him, and he probably had shared a bit of lunchtime gossip back in the day with his usual friends about it -- Clint and sometimes Jim and Quill and some of the baseball fans. Jim would have said something, wouldn’t he? Tony and Jim had been friends their whole lives, but Bucky couldn’t remember.

Maybe it was that, back then, he hadn’t noticed anything outside of his own little sphere, before Tony had come into his world like a comet.

“Hm.” Nat leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling as if the secrets to the universe were hidden in the patterns on the tiles. “It is well-substantiated that Hope finds her father to be overprotective and overbearing. Also, that he hates Howard Stark, though I do not know quite why, only that the feud is decades old.”

Bucky waved a hand. “Business thing,” he said. “Howard may or may not have stolen some ideas or data that Pym was working on. We dealt with lawsuits and copyright issues for years--” Bucky had a brief memory of actually meeting Hope’s father one time and the only thing he could think of was that thank god, Hope was in Europe for a tour when that particular court decision had come down.

She nodded and shrugged with one shoulder. “There is an unsubstantiated rumor that Hope may be seeing a boy from another school. But it is vague rumor at best; no one has enough details to make it solid.” She cocked her head and studied Bucky. “No hint at all that she has any interest in Tony, at least not before the picture was taken. They have been in some of the same clubs -- academic challenge, science exploration, that kind of thing -- but no flirting, no doodling names in the notebook, no coy glances from behind safety goggles. They are acquaintances, not even friends.”

“I never even met her,” Bucky said, as if that mattered, as if it had ever mattered. “As a-- we always sort of treated her like Tony’s ex, as far as conversation.” And then he wondered if Hope was Tony’s one-who-got-away, the same way Steve had been Bucky’s. And look how well that had gone. Well, at least, Bucky thought, he knew. He knew he and Steve weren’t compatible that way, before they’d ruined anything. Because he wasn’t sure he’d have known that, inexperienced and green as he’d been-- “You know, the first time around, I think it was different. I was so desperate to have someone like me, _anyone_ , really. It was an ego trip, getting someone to want you bad enough to go kiss in the corner. Does that-- do you feel like that, sometimes? Like you just need to matter to _some_ one.”

“Everyone wants to matter,” Nat said plainly, “in some way or another.” She considered it, tapping her fingers against the wall. “He was not seeing Hope when you asked him out, the first time,” she pointed out. “So even if they dated, then, it did not survive long. And now, he wants _you_ , not her.”

Bucky was torn between wanting to seem cool -- that had always been an obsession, vanity, maybe -- and wanting to break down, force Natasha to reassure him. _You should have seen how he looked at her, like he couldn’t look at anything else._ “I’m pathetic,” he whined.

“Yes,” she said, merciless. “And you are also keeping him waiting. Would he have been so eager to have you over if he wanted Hope instead?”

“Yeah, ‘cause who can resist all this?” Bucky gestured at himself mockingly with one hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter much, does it? I’m… I’m all in.” He ducked in, greatly daring, and brushed a kiss over Nat’s cheek. “You’re the best, you know that, right? Absolutely, _the best_.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you appreciate my magnificence. Go. Prove to him that you are a better choice than Hope Pym, if you feel you must.”

Somewhere, there had to be a bit of the old Bucky left; the one who actually thought he was a good catch, who knew he was talented and fun, funny and smart. The sort of boy who never even _considered_ that Tony would turn him down for a date. _He loves_ you _now,_ Bucky told himself. _Make sure he doesn’t forget, this time._ He tipped Natasha a little salute and slung his bag over his shoulder. It was a little past time to meet Tony out in front of the school. 

He started at a walk, but by the time he got to the first corner, he was running.

Tony’s face lit up when he saw Bucky round the corner of the building, and he all but pulled Bucky into the car where Jarvis waited patiently. “Hey, J, Bucky’s going to come home with me to work on some homework, okay?”

Jarvis glanced at them in the rearview mirror, a faint smile on his lips. “And will any homework actually be done?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Tony admitted cheerfully. “Will you tell Ana he’s staying for dinner, too?”

Jarvis smiled a little wider at that. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to set another place at the table. It will be good to have you with us, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nodded. “Homework does sort of have t’ get done,” Bucky said. “I get good grades, don’t want to screw it up.” Mostly he got good grades because being on the team required a C or better average, and Bucky had thought college might be a thing, if baseball didn’t work out. He could maybe have gotten a scholarship on his baseball skills, even if he wasn’t quite good enough for the professional leagues.

Wasn’t like Dad was going to pop back into his life with college tuition.

“I’ve got a handful of calculus equations to solve, and French, but I could sleepwalk through French, I just need to write the stuff down. French is easy.” He glanced at Tony. “What language are you in?”

“I wanted to take Japanese, but not enough people signed up,” Tony said, pouting. “So I’m doing Italian. At least I can practice that with my mom. Of course, Dad thinks I should’ve taken German or French, something with a wider business appeal.”

“Well, this French is easy,” Bucky said. “I just need to write like… two paragraphs about colors of stuff in my life. Boring, but I think Mssr. Dernier is trying to be poetical or something. We got to listen to him drone on about the color of the sea yesterday.”

He managed to stretch the small talk about school and homework long enough to get to Tony’s house. 

"House" seemed like an inadequate word for the place where Tony lived, but Bucky tried to ignore it. Still wasn’t like he could imagine Tony at his apartment, looking around at the fact that Bucky slept on the sofa and kept his clothes in the same trunk that served as their coffee table. Yeah, no.

Once Jarvis dropped them off at the door and went to park the car, he raised an eyebrow at Tony. “So, what’s your _actual_ plan?"

Tony pressed a hand to his chest and rounded his mouth and eyes in utterly unbelievable false shock. “Are you implying that I _lied?_ I said homework, and we’ll do homework.” His mouth curved in a sly smile. “With maybe an occasional study break.”

“You are so beautiful,” Bucky said, without even thinking, his hand reaching out to tweak Tony’s chin. “I don’t know how there ain’t a line waitin’, to be able to do somethin’ with you.”

Tony looked pleased, but he huffed a little and said, “Because all those people wouldn’t care about _me_.” He took Bucky’s hand and pulled him further into the house. “Workshop?”

“You bet,” Bucky said. “How’s DUM-E, anything new on the development front?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “We’ve been working on him putting things back down after he picks them up. I honestly can’t tell if he’s got a glitch in the code that makes it so he can’t understand me, or if he’s just doing it to be a pain in my ass.”

“He’s playing with you,” Bucky suggested. “Like a dog that won’t give you the ball back. No give, only throw!”

Tony laughed. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know if he’s that smart yet.” He pushed the door to the workshop open, waved Bucky in, and put a sign on the outside of the door that read, “GENIUS IN PROGRESS DO NOT DISTURB.”

“Bystanders will be assimilated?” Bucky wondered. He threw his pack onto the floor, sat on Tony’s sagging sofa -- this sofa was different, but just as ratty as the one in Tony’s neglected workshop back in the future, and the layout really was very similar. The more things change, the more things stay the same, Bucky thought.

“Something like that,” Tony agreed. He patted DUM-E on the head -- claw, whatever -- and flopped down next to Bucky. “So where do you want to start?”

“Uh, you mean with the homework?” Bucky asked, like he was some sort of idiot. “Um. Why don’t you help me with this calculus and we’ll get it out of the way?”

“Sure.” Tony dragged his own backpack closer with one foot and unzipped it. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The homework was not quite enough of a distraction that Bucky wasn’t watching everything that Tony did, the way he leaned closer to the paper, the way he held his pen. The calluses on his fingers and the grease that seemed permanently embedded in his skin and under his nails.

They managed to get through three problems, Tony patiently coaching Bucky through the math, which was good, because while Bucky could do it, and had done it, he didn’t really remember it anymore. Wasn’t like he didn’t have a computer in his back pocket most of the time that could do that shit for him.

But by the third problem, Bucky was doing most of it himself, with Tony watching, nodding encouragingly every time Bucky glanced at him, and when he finished, Tony threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and kissed him thoroughly. “Good job,” he panted, when they broke apart.

“You-- should not have done that,” Bucky teased. “Now I’m distracted.” He all but tackled Tony on the sofa, pushing him down into those soft cushions and nipping at Tony’s throat in the way he knew made Tony absolutely weak in the knees.

“Oh, _shit,_ ” Tony gasped, “do that again.” He tipped his head back, giving Bucky more access, and threaded the fingers of one hand into Bucky’s hair. “How else am I supposed to motivate you to study?”

“Motivation, huh?” Bucky said, then licked at Tony’s throat. “How many kisses do I get, per math problem?” He wanted to bite, but was pretty sure that Howard would not approve, and right at that moment in Tony’s life, Howard’s disapproval often came with more than just stern words.

“Uhm...” Tony’s voice trailed off as Bucky sucked on the skin lightly. “Uh. Some? Three?”

“Oh, okay,” Bucky said, and he sat back up again, so suddenly that Tony lay there, looking delectably confused and rumpled. “That was three. Sit up, next problem.” He didn’t quite laugh at Tony’s floored expression, but it was a near thing.

Tony pulled himself back upright after a moment. “You’re evil,” he accused, looking entirely too happy about it.

“My secret is out,” Bucky said. It took him a moment to shake off Tony’s nearness, the openness about him, the way Bucky was teaching him love, at the same time Tony was teaching Bucky math, and everything was adding up _perfectly_.

They finished off Bucky’s math homework, and then Bucky helped Tony with some English, because Tony had an engineer’s grasp on adverbs, which was to say none whatsoever. And then Bucky allowed Tony to practically climb into his lap while they made out furiously, Bucky having one hand on Tony’s hip and the other one brushing the skin of his back, and then sliding up his chest. “You--uh… when’s dinner?” Bucky asked, his head going back as Tony glommed on to how much Bucky liked having his scalp scratched. 

“You know,” Tony said into Bucky’s neck. “Dinner. Time. Ish.”

Bucky started pushing Tony’s shirt up and out of his way. “Don’t want to get walked in on,” he said, reasonably. “Least at your place, it’s just Jarvis you gotta worry about. My place, I don’t even have a door, an’ got two sisters who would just love to peek at us.”

“No making out at your place,” Tony said breathlessly. “Got it.” He reached behind him and tugged his shirt off entirely, letting it fall to the floor. There was an old, white scar in the center of his chest, remnant of the surgery he’d had when he was ten, though he hadn’t told Bucky about that, yet.

Bucky couldn’t help himself. He shouldn’t, but god, he wanted to, and he leaned down and licked a soft trail up that scar. “Ain’t you pretty?”

He sat back, then, a little shy and a little tender and a lot horny. “Tony-- man, you gotta tell me no.”

Tony was breathing hard, his skin flushed and his lips swollen and red. His hair was a tousled mess, and his pupils blown wide. “Why?” he whined. “I like this, this is great.”

“‘Course you do, feels great,” Bucky said, and he traced his fingers over the soft skin of Tony’s belly. “But debauchery before dinner’s a little… rude. Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis’re gonna take one look at us an’ know exactly what we’ve been up to.”

Tony pouted, but didn’t argue. He traced his fingers across Bucky’s lips, which were no doubt just as bright as Tony’s, and sighed. “Okay, yeah.” He slid off Bucky’s lap and flopped back on the couch, grimacing as he adjusted his jeans. “Debauchery Before Dinner would make a great band name. Or maybe the title of a novel.”

Bucky found himself biting his lip, eyes locked on Tony’s hand, and then slid to one side, knowing the shape of him behind those denims-- “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, something like that. I, uh… you might want to say what’s off limits.” _Because I sure the hell am not going to know where they are anymore._

Tony tipped his head back against the couch cushions and ran his hands through his hair, trying to make it look a little less obvious what they’d been doing. “I will... think about that,” he said. “Because right at this moment, I’m not sure there _are_ any limits.” He blew out a breath. “You, too,” he added.

"It's okay," Bucky said, because he wasn't sure if Tony knew it, "to have some. Or even stuff we want to do, but not, you know. _Now_. I won't be mad, if you tell me no. That ain't how this works."

_I need to have some control here,_ Bucky told himself, scrubbing one hand over his face. It was bizarre, how much influence this younger body had over his thoughts. "I mean, I'll still respect you in the morning, an' all that," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know, I just,” Tony panted, “just right now I want _everything_ and the, like, two braincells I have that are still receiving blood are telling me that’s _maybe_ not the best idea but damned if they can come up with a reason why. So. Yeah. Uh. Will think about it.” 

"Yeah " Bucky agreed, because his brain cells were also occupied with how and when and what, and not so much with the slow down and limits. "I mean, feels like twenty years at least, but we just started dating, all official like, this afternoon. You wouldn't want everyone thinking I'm fast, would ya?"

Tony laughed, throwing an arm across his eyes. “Don’t you listen to the rumors? _You’re_ not the fast one.”

"Are you, though?" Bucky wondered. He knew that Tony had been his first, all those years ago, but Tony had never really said whether the reverse was true, whether he’d had sex before Bucky. Maybe he hadn't. "I mean, it doesn't matter, but… I mean, I've messed around some, and--" Everything he'd ever done _with_ Tony was going to be more experience he had than Tony. Which didn't seem fair, somehow. "No, nevermind. Forget I asked. That's unfair. You don't gotta tell me, if you don't want to."

Tony shook his head, not moving his arm. “This is the farthest I’ve gone. I might’ve... exaggerated, a little, when I started at this school. So, rumors. But, uh. No.”

" _Oh_ ," Bucky said, and suddenly saw things in a whole different light. Tony was just as unsure and uncertain as Bucky had been, and that cocksure attitude that Bucky had -- first time around -- assumed was experience, had just been _fronting_. "Well you know, it's okay. I… uh. Haven't. I mean, a little messing around. Not that it matters. Virginity is a social construct. But, I still, you know. Have it."

Tony dropped his arm to look at Bucky, a little more serious and a little less hot-and-bothered. “Guess we’ll figure it out together.” He grinned, suddenly. “If it helps, I’m _incredibly_ well-read.”

"Oh, is that what they're calling it, these days?" Bucky teased. "Stealing your old man's skin mags?" 

Tony blushed a little, but kept his chin up. “Not just those,” he said, smirking a little despite the flush. “I got permission to go into the adult sections of the library when I was like seven. You wouldn’t _believe_ some of the stuff that’s hidden in there.”

Bucky scrubbed through his hair again, and got his papers back in order. At least his homework hadn't been torn in their enthusiasm. "I need to do this French," he said. "You-- do whatever it is you've got to do."

Tony scrunched up his face but leaned forward to rummage in his backpack. “Yeah, I need to finish writing up this lab report or Bruce is going to kill me.”

"All right," Bucky said. "Work. Dinner. And then maybe some more making out before I go home."


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky dragged his suitcase with him onto the bus. _GCL Yankees_ was written in blue letters, as big as his torso, on the side. Ten times shinier than the regular public transport bus that Bucky was used to, and only half as crowded. There were about a dozen other guys already on board, picked up from various hub stations. There were a couple more stops, and then they were on their way to two practices and a Sunday afternoon exhibition game against the Prince William Cannons.

Bucky wasn’t the youngest; that honor went to a tiny little catcher, all of fifteen years old, and Bucky felt both entirely too old to be doing this shit -- after all, he was almost twice as many years of experience older than the oldest guy on the bus, a 26-year-old pitcher from Plattsburg, of all places -- and painfully too young to be doing this at all.

Ma couldn’t take off work to go to the game, and while she’d kissed him goodbye and wished him luck, Bucky had the strangest feeling that he was never going to get through this.

He barely remembered the exhibition from the first time around, except that they’d lost. Badly. Which wasn’t surprising really. Like a ten year old playing a chess grandmaster, they’d been thoroughly schooled.

But Bucky’d done okay at his two at-bats, scoring a double the first time, and bringing a runner home the second time.

Still, he couldn’t seem to find enough room in his chest for air.

He’d be all alone, out there.

But it was more than anyone else from school would get; Bucky would actually play semi-professional ball. One game. In a stadium with actual ticket-paying viewers. 

He took a seat by himself, settling his suitcase on the carry rack over his head. Two nights in a strange hotel, and then home again.

Bucky reminded himself that he’d done this before, staying away from home, but it didn’t really help. His body didn’t seem to know what it was doing, and he found himself rubbing at his left hand again, like it _hurt_.

An hour’s bus ride later, they pulled up to the hotel where the Yankees were putting everyone up for the weekend.

“Line up, alphabetical order,” the assistant coach yelled, “and get your uniform. These are yours to keep, regardless of selection. Azocar, Oscar. Barfield, Jesse. Barnes, James…”

Bucky took hold of a neatly folded and pressed white and blue uniform with his name on the damn back of the jersey, and almost wept.

“Living the dream, hey,” Azocar said to him, nudging. “Come on up, I did this last year, didn’t cut it. We’ll have a party tonight and all be too hungover to play worth shit tomorrow.”

Bucky wondered if that was why Azocar didn’t cut it last year. He didn’t speculate on that out loud though. Azocar was an outfielder and looked like he could kick Bucky’s ass sideways if he thought Bucky was giving him lip.

“Yeah, we’ll see. Gonna call my mom,” Bucky said, “an’ let her know I made it. Then-- we’ll see.”

After they got their uniforms and schedules, they were handed keys and sent to their rooms. Bucky had barely gotten into his room and put his suitcase down when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is the front desk; is this Mr. James Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“You have visitors, if you want to come downstairs and meet them. We cannot give out your room number or any personal information without your permission.”

“Visitors. Plural?” Bucky asked, blinking.

“Yes, sir,” the front desk clerk said. 

“I’ll be right down,” Bucky said. He blinked several more times. That hadn’t happened the first time through. No one had come to see him play. So why--

_Tony?_

Bucky grabbed the room key and couldn’t even wait for the elevator, running down three flights of stairs to the lobby.

Tony turned to look as the stairwell door opened, and his face lit up. “Bucky! Surprise!” Gathered behind him were Natasha and Steve and Clint Barton and Jim Rhodes, all grinning and laughing, probably at the look on Bucky’s face.

“Oh, my god.” Bucky almost fell down. “What the _hell_ are you-- are you-- staying here?”

“We came to see you play, of course,” Natasha said in her best _you idiot_ tone.

“We’re not in this hotel,” Tony added. “I couldn’t get anyone to tell me which hotel you were going to be in until it was too late. But we’re just a block down the road.”

“Oh, my god,” Bucky repeated. “I can’t believe you guys-- wow, that’s… holy shit, Tony.” Because it had to have been Tony who put all this together, planned it, was paying for it. Maybe Jim could chip in a share, his parents had been firmly middle class, but most of the rest of them were just at or below the poverty line.

“We’re not about to let you face off another team without some support in the stands,” Tony promised. He swayed toward Bucky a little, like he wanted to plant a kiss on Bucky’s cheek, but managed to hold his place. “What’s your schedule look like? Can you hang out with us at all tonight or tomorrow?”

“We have practice, tonight -- after dinner for like an hour. I don’t think we’ll do much, just kinda get an idea of who’s on the team, do some warm ups. Then tomorrow from six until two,” Bucky said. “I think they want to get a look at everything we can do. But I’m free after that until Sunday’s game. Game starts at 1:30, we have to be there at noon.”

“Awesome. I’ll include you in the count when I make our dinner reservations for tomorrow, then,” Tony said. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead.”

“That’s great. Look, come on up, let’s not stand around here,” Bucky said. “There’s a sofa in my hotel room.”

“Dibs!” Clint yelled, and dove toward the elevator, not so much pushing the Up button as slamming into it. Natasha rolled her eyes and followed at a more leisurely pace, along with the others.

“This is okay, isn’t it?” Tony asked quietly as he fell in beside Bucky. “We’re not going to be too much of a distraction?”

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky promised him. “Beats going up to Oscar’s room and drinking ‘til I puke,” Bucky said, which is what had happened last time, since Bucky had no idea about his alcohol tolerance until that night. “I’m glad you came. Really. This is weirdly exciting and terrifying all at the same time. If I gotta make sure I’m bein’ cool in front of you guys, maybe I won’t panic so bad.”

“Oh,” Steve put in, mock-sadly. “Oh, that’s too bad, Buck. We all know already you’re nothing like cool.”

Jim twisted around to say, “When Coach heard we were comin’, he gave me a whole page of pointers and tips for you to remember. I threw it out the window when we were goin’ about seventy. You’re welcome.”

Bucky shook his head. “Yeah, okay. I think I got a whole extra half hour’s worth of lecture at last practice because of this. He seems to think my getting into the majors will mean some sort of career goal for _him_.”

Clint pressed his hand over his heart and pasted on a sincere expression. “And I owe it all to my old Coach back home. He taught me everything I know about baseball.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah. I’m gonna make it to the majors, and then I’m going to send him really expensive Christmas presents, or something.”

They all piled into his hotel room, still laughing and talking. Bucky unfolded the uniform and held it up to his chest, not quite sure what he was feeling. Proud, maybe. “Here, I gotta try this on, you all can tell me how it looks.”

He went into the bathroom, which was practically bigger than the one he shared with two sisters, the sample hotel shampoo and body wash lined up neat by the sink, and stripped, putting the uniform on slowly.

“You,” he told his reflection seriously, “look good.” He grabbed the hat and then went out. “What do ya think?”

His friends burst out into cheers and applause and whistling. “That’s our Bucky!” Steve said, and Tony winked at him and mouthed _my Bucky_.

“Honest,” Bucky said, finally, after posing and generally showing off, “this is the best. Thanks so much, you’ve… made this really great, just being here.”

Tony looked pleased at that, a little proud of having organized the excursion. “Season tickets for everyone, when you make the majors,” he promised.

“I’ll hold you t’ that,” Bucky said. “I want to have my own little cheering squad, following me around.” He could just imagine it, slowly growing as he got fans all over the country. Being in the papers because of some outstanding play, or a really great game, or doing something grand-gestury with his earnings, like starting a children’s hospital. Signing on with some sneaker company for endorsements. It could be so great.

He looked over at Tony, grinning. And Tony would be part of it. _Partners_.

Equal partners. 

He gave Natasha a wink. “I know I owe you a lot for this, too,” he said, softly.

“Yes,” she said. “You owe me very much. You may repay me by hiring me as your publicity manager.”

Bucky snorted. “I dunno, there might be other things you want to do with your life aside from makin’ me look good.”

“You already look good,” Tony said, smirking. “Natasha would have lots of time to do other things.”

“Yeah, I look amazing,” Bucky said, posing again, and laughing when Clint threw a couch cushion at him, which started an all-out pillow fight, which might have actually ended in damages to the hotel room, except Azocar knocked on Bucky’s door to fetch him for dinner and the evening practice. 

“Leave your hotel number,” Bucky told them, “and I’ll call when I get back in for the night?”

Tony fished the little notepad out of the drawer of the desk and scrawled on it. “We’ll be waiting to hear how practice went,” he promised.

“Those are my friends,” Bucky told Azocar proudly. “They came to see me play.”

Practice was… a lot less fun. About half an hour of filling out paperwork, followed by the most vigorous and taxing calisthenics that Bucky had ever done in his _life_. He’d forgotten about that from the first time. He was dripping with sweat and exhausted by the time they were done, staggering up to his hotel room wanting nothing more than a shower.

He did, however, see the note Tony had left in the center of the bed.

_Call me!_ Followed by the number of the hotel where everyone else was staying.

He dialed the numbers, flopping down on the bed. “Just kill me now,” he told Tony, muffled by the blankets, when he answered.

“No can do. I have uses for you,” Tony said, laughing sympathetically. “Was it rough?”

“Pretty sure they’re tryin’ to cheat for the home team by makin’ sure none of us can walk by Sunday,” Bucky groaned. “And I gotta get up tomorrow at five o’clock. I’m gonna die.”

“Aw. No dying,” Tony repeated. “I could promise a nice reward for getting through it all.”

“Such as?” Bucky wondered. 

“Mmm,” Tony hummed, considering. “You can ride back home with us Sunday evening instead of taking the bus? It was a fun ride out.”

“Add bringing me some coffee before practice tomorrow morning, and I’ll promise not to die at least until Tuesday,” Bucky said.

“Oh, honey, coffee isn’t a bribe or a reward. It’s a necessity of _life_.”

“Great,” Bucky said. “Provided I don’t drown in the shower, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at 5:15 or so?”

“I’ll be there,” Tony promised. “Though I might point out that means _I’ll_ have to get up at four-thirty. On a Saturday. I think I might be due some change, for that.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “But you can go take a nap while I’m runnin’ laps around the damn stadium, so, you know-- we all gotta make sacrifices if I’m gonna be someone important.”

“You’re already important to me,” Tony said softly.

“I--” _Love you._ Bucky almost said it, and then, realizing just how very true it was, choked on the words. “Gotta go take a shower. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sorry I can’t party with y’all tonight. Have fun, okay?”

“You bet. Get some rest. They’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

“As you wish,” Bucky said, and then hung up on Tony’s gentle gasp.

***

One nice thing about hotels was the shower; adequate water pressure and an abundance of hot water made up for a lot.

Bucky had a pre-cup of coffee from the shitty instant crap that the hotel provided, enough to keep him from falling back asleep in the shower, and then dressed and went downstairs.

Tony was, in fact, there in the lobby, two cups of coffee from a local beanery in a paper cup holder.

He was also asleep in one of the leather chairs in the lobby. Bucky sat down on the arm of the chair. “Hey, baby,” he said, very gently tapping Tony’s arm a few times to try not to startle him awake. “I know I said you could take a nap, but this ain’t the place for it.”

Tony’s nose scrunched and then he blinked awake slowly. “‘M not napping,” he mumbled. “Coffee.”

“You ain’t awake, neither,” Bucky told him, then took one of the cups. “Thank you. I gotta say, wasn’t sure you’d really show up. I know how you hate mornings.” Twenty years of listening to Tony complaining about having to get up-- even if he’d just barely gotten to sleep. Bouts of insomnia followed by periods of narcolepsy; and the whole time Tony resenting the need for sleep at all, since sleep was wasted time when he could have been _working_.

“You do?” Tony struggled to sit upright and clutched the other coffee to his chest, not drinking it so much as breathing in the aroma. “Anything for you.”

Bucky took several swallows of coffee, then sucked air, cooling his burning gums. “Yeah, don’t promise anythin’, I still owe you for the coffee. I’ll end up in debt to you up to my eyebrows.”

He nudged Tony’s shoulder with his knee. “You guys have fun last night? What’d you do?”

Bucky neglected to mention that he had, in fact, fallen asleep in his practice gear, rather than shower, and only around two in the morning woken up enough to strip and slide under the blankets.

Tony practically inhaled half his coffee on the first gulp. “Would you believe I taught everyone to play whist?” He grinned up at Bucky. “Nah. We got dinner and then went to the mall, you know, to see if the Spencer’s here is any different from the one at home. Clint ate enough ice cream to make _me_ feel sick, and then we went back to the hotel and watched movies on pay-per-view.”

Bucky laughed. “That’s the adult channel pay-per-view, or like, HBO?” He’d flipped through the channels himself, just to see if there was anything adult that he could access. From the noises that had come from the floor above him, he wasn’t sure at least some of the guys on the team hadn’t rented at least one dirty movie. Or called in a hooker or something. It might have been annoying if Bucky hadn’t been too tired to care.

“There was some discussion about that,” Tony admitted, “but in the interest of their parents ever allowing them to associate with me again, we decided to stick to HBO.”

“Right,” Bucky said, shifting a little as certain parts of him became a little too interested in visualizing Tony watching porn. “No thinking about _that_ before practice.” He took a quick look around the lobby. “There’s a very nice potted plant over there. I’ll give you your change, and then I gotta get on the bus?”

Tony glanced around as well and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds even better than coffee.” He held up a hand and let Bucky tug him out of the chair.

Backing Tony into the corner, shielded by the ambitious fern, roused a dozen memories of kissing in corners, having quick handies in the bathroom at fancy parties. Bucky couldn’t remember when Tony had stopped being so interested in taking advantage of a quiet corner and a hard wall.

One hand on the wall to keep Tony pinned in place, and Bucky ran his thumb along Tony’s chin, angling his jaw perfectly to line their mouths up.

Tony tasted like black coffee and more than a little toothpaste. Bucky pressed them together, rolling his hips against Tony’s body, helpless not to. “You are so sweet,” Bucky panted when he drew back.

Tony’s eyes fluttered open again and he carefully released the hold he’d taken on Bucky’s jersey, smoothing out the wrinkles. “You,” he returned, “are downright spicy.” He smiled up at Bucky and leaned up for a quick kiss on the cheek. “Time to think about baseball,” he teased. “You’re going to be great. Call the hotel when you’re ready for dinner, okay?”

“I’m gonna be fantastic,” Bucky told him. “I’m gonna get drafted this season. You’ll see. You’re my lucky charm.” He kissed Tony again, ending with a flick of his tongue over Tony’s lower lip. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”


	13. Chapter 13

That practice had gone better; at least they were learning to play as a team, and not just running around and doing squats. Although they did some of that, too.

By the time Bucky was let go for the evening, his thighs were trembling, his hands had a stripe of blisters across the palms from swinging a bat, and he’d gotten more teamwork theory crammed into his brain in a few short hours than he had from four years of playing high school baseball.

So much for _Coach taught me everything I know_. Bucky was going to go back to school and be twice the player he’d been.

Provided he didn’t eat until he exploded at dinner, because damn, he didn’t think he’d been so hungry in his life.

The Yankees coach had given him a couple of meal vouchers for the hotel, and he’d already snarfed down a burger by the time he called Tony and the gang. “So, I’m a free man until tomorrow’s game,” Bucky reported. “Also, I hit a major league level home run during my at-bats. So, worship me as the baseball god that I am and will become.”

“That’s awesome!” Tony enthused. “There’s a few places that look good a couple of blocks on the far side of you from us, so we’ll head out in a couple and pick you up in front of your hotel, yeah?”

“Great,” Bucky agreed. He changed out of his sweaty uniform and put it in the bag for the hotel staff to clean and return it for the next day’s game, pulling on his nicest pair of jeans and a button down shirt. He knew the kinds of places Tony would eventually come to like, and while no one was going to chase them out of the place for dressing down -- probably -- some sort of dressing up wouldn’t go amiss.

It wasn’t much. Jeans and a nice shirt and a sport jacket that had been his father’s once, but he checked his look in the mirror before heading down, and it wasn’t too bad. Sharp.

Of course, he realized as he saw the cluster of them coming up the block toward him, he could’ve worn damn near anything and been better dressed than Clint.

Natasha skipped ahead of the rest to plant a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “How was it?” she demanded. “We are all very proud, you know.”

“Not bad,” Bucky said. “I think the pitcher was going easy on me, though. Wanted to see how hard I could hit. Knocked it clean out of the park. It was awesome.” He looped one arm through Nat’s on one side, and Tony on the other. “Feed me, I’m starvin’. No wonder professional baseball players make bank. I can’t imagine what their grocery bill is gonna be like.”

Tony laughed. “We’ll buy out the whole menu for you if you want,” he promised. “What’re you in the mood for?”

Bucky followed his nose to a ribs and barbeque place. “Meat,” he said, pointing, and they went in. Being the middle of the afternoon, they didn’t have to wait long for a table, although the waitress had been less than enthusiastic about serving a bunch of kids. Probably thought they were going to stiff her on the tip. But after the first round of fries disappeared and she’d brought out a rack of ribs for Bucky, a half rack for Clint, and a plate of barbeque chicken that Steve picked at lacidasically, Bucky’d given up caring.

He had sauce on his mouth and fingers, and was making a point to stare at Tony while he licked his skin clean, when he stopped, suddenly, staring.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, the bone falling out of his hand, and he watched, helplessly, as a very familiar man pulled out a chair for his date and then sat down. There was no mistaking him.

George Barnes and his new wife.

Tony glanced around, then looked back at Bucky. “What? Who is it?”

Steve looked around, then practically surged up in his chair. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?” he demanded, and Natasha had to grab the back of his shirt and haul him back down into his seat.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, breathless. He hadn’t seen his father in seven years in this timeline; in his old life, he hadn’t seen his father in close to thirty. There’d never been any need. George had tried to contact Bucky once, after his marriage went public, and as soon as George asked for money, Bucky hung up and tried hard not to think about the man, ever again.

Under the table, Tony put a hand on Bucky’s leg, squeezing gently. “What do you want to do?”

“Like to punch his cheatin’, lyin’ face in,” Bucky snarled. “He _left_ us. He left _Ma_. Ain’t paid a lick of child support, either, and my _sisters_ \--” He choked off the words. “I don’t know. I don’t _know_ what to do.”

“I do,” Steve growled, and Natasha hauled him back into his chair again.

“If he is to be punched,” she scolded, “then Bucky should get to do it.”

“Bucky might lose his chance at the majors if he gets into a brawl before he’s ever even played an exhibition game,” Tony pointed out. He was facing away from Bucky’s dad, but he stared hard at the far wall, as if there were a solution encoded in the cheesy faux-western decor. “I could pay the waitress to dump something messy on him,” he offered.

All he could think of was _this didn’t happen, it hadn’t happened_. This was something new, entirely, from the way his life had played out before.

“I don’t--” Bucky swallowed. “Should I say something? I ain’t seen him since I was _ten_. Barely learning to ride a bike, and he-- he just left. Ma was pregnant with Rachel, he never even met her. Didn’t want to. Said he had enough of kids and bein’ tied down, an’ less than a year after that, Ma had divorced him, and he was married to someone else.” Bucky glanced at the woman -- his step mother, he supposed, and they’d never met, although he knew her name. Some blonde floozy, hanging on George’s arm like he was important.

“--god, he looks like me,” Bucky managed the barest whisper. He more meant that George looked like the man Bucky had grown into, but the resemblance was pretty obvious.

“Anyone’ll tell you, looks don’t matter,” Jim put in.

“He is not worthy of your time,” Natasha opined. “You will have a beautiful, happy life, and he will not _matter_.”

“Don’t I just wish that were true,” Bucky said. “How-- how could he do that t’ us?” If looks could kill, George Barnes would have been going up in flames right there. As it was, Bucky didn’t know how he couldn’t feel the weight of Bucky’s stare, didn’t notice the teenagers three tables over talking in low, furious whispers.

He couldn’t decide; having Tony bribe someone into petty, messy revenge sounded appealing, but at the same time-- “I want to hear what he’s got to say for himself.” Bucky pushed back from the table.

Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand quickly. “We’ve got your back.”

He moved across the restaurant like he was dreaming, barely feeling his feet against the floor. “George Barnes,” he said, coming up to the table. “ _Dad_.” He didn’t even look at the woman, who gasped and put her hand in front of her mouth like Bucky had said a bad word at church. All he could see was the man who so clearly resembled the man Bucky’d seen in the mirror every damn day.

George frowned up at Bucky, obviously confused for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Jimmy? What th’ hell are you doin’ here?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky said. “That ain’t my name. My name is Bucky.” He couldn’t look away; everything about his father was familiar and alien, strange and like he’d just seen the man a week ago. “I have an exhibition game tomorrow. I’m being scouted for the major leagues. Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Yeah? That’s great, son, that’s great. Always knew you’d do well.” George glanced around, obviously uncomfortable.

“Guess that’s why you figured you didn’t need to stay, right? I’d do well enough, so you didn’t have to? Ma had a girl, in case you didn’t know it. We named her Rachel, after Gran. You got any new kids that I don’t know about? New family? I see you got yourself a new--” he glanced at the woman, finally, up at her face, down to her hands. No ring. “Oh… not married. Or, at least not to you.”

The woman’s eyes were wide and clear blue, shocked, angry. Hurt. “George? What’s he talking about?”

“Sorry,” Bucky said, even if he wasn’t sorry at all. This woman might not deserve to be hurt, but she did deserve the truth. “I guess he didn’t tell you. I’m James Barnes. His son. I thought you might have been Sheila, my step-mother. Or did you step out on her, too, George?”

George’s face turned red, his expression thunderous. “Now, see here,” he blustered. “You can’t just barge in here, flinging accusations around, when you don’t know the first damn thing about the situation.”

“What do you think, Tony?” Bucky asked, tossing the question over his shoulder. “Do you think I’ve misunderstood the _situation_? I think it’s pretty clear. Oh, sorry. Dad. These are my friends, they came to watch me play tomorrow.”

As if he’d only been waiting for the excuse, Tony appeared at Bucky’s elbow. “Mr. Barnes,” he said cooly. “Ma’am.” He nodded to George’s date, then gave George a slow, appraising look, down and back up. It wasn’t as effective on Tony’s thin, teenaged face as it would be in another ten years, when he’d really grown into himself, but Bucky wouldn’t have wanted to be on the other end of that disdainful stare, even now.

Finally, Tony looked back at Bucky. “You’re better off without him,” he said dismissively. “Come on back to the table; we’re trying to decide on dessert.”

Bucky’s arms ached -- he was shaking and suppressing it -- but he gave Tony a wide, genuine smile. “You’re right,” he said. “There ain’t nothin’ for me here. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. Nothing to prove.”

And he turned around and walked away from his father.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Bucky said under his breath as soon as they got back to the table. “Holy shit--”

He was just about to comment on it more extensively, when there was a single sound-- skin against skin. George Barnes swore, the woman threw her drink in his face, and stormed out.

Bucky turned to watch his father gather the tattered shreds of his dignity, throw his napkin down on the table, and rush after her.

Tony squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and signaled their waitress. “Put their check on my tab,” he said. “No sense you getting stiffed because he’s a cheating bastard.” He smiled winningly and sprawled into his chair, leaning into Bucky’s side almost as if by accident. “You okay, hon?” he murmured.

“Yeah, I--” Bucky stared out at the door, his father long since gone. “Guess I always wondered if I’d done somethin’ wrong, or if we coulda done it different and Dad would stay. Now I’m thinking, maybe it’s best. Best this way. I think-- I think I’m gonna be okay with it.”

* * *

The game--

Oh, god, for love of the game.

Bucky woke up feeling good. He got to the stadium and any nerves he’d had were gone. It was a perfect day, it was going to be a perfect game.

He was on the cusp of eighteen years old, he was young, stronger than he’d ever been.

And despite everything, once he got into that professional-looking uniform, tucked the batting helmet under his arm-- he remembered everything. The way the pitcher had moved just before a fast ball, the way the second baseman had run, everything.

This pitcher, at least, wasn’t pulling, at all. He was beaming the ball at the rookies, the draftees, the kids, like he wanted to terrify them. The clock was registering his fast balls at over ninety miles an hour. Getting hit with that ball wasn’t going to just leave a mark.

Bucky stepped up to the plate for his first at bat.

He could hear Tony and the rest of his crew going crazy, cheering for him, even over the general noise of the stadium, the loudspeaker giving his high school stats.

He took a breath.

The whole world slowed down around him. He could see everything in crystal clear focus, the ball as it turned. He could practically count the stitches.

The bat impacted with the ball so hard that Bucky’s arm ached with it, and he stood there for a moment, watching it--

“ _Run you idiot_!”

Bucky ran, and--

The stands erupted into cheers as he was clearing second, and the third base coach was waving him on, _run run run_.

He came into third, and stopped, just before the baseman leaped to catch the ball.

Perfect.

A triple on his first at bat.

It was going to be a _glorious_ game.

If he’d thought his friends were being wild before, they were utterly _crazy_ now, whistling and stamping their feet and yelling his name. “Bu-cky! Bu-cky! Bu-cky!” They chanted it loud enough that a few bystanders actually joined in.

The next batter struck out, too scared of the ball to actually swing at it, but the next one drove the ball -- a grounder -- right up the middle, and Bucky brought home a run on it.

He didn’t think he’d had a finer moment _in his life_.

“Good work, kid,” the coach said, giving Bucky a reluctant smile. 

He didn’t even care anymore that they were probably still going to lose. He’d done well, he’d gotten approval from the only person whose opinion mattered right now. 

He couldn’t stop grinning, even when the next two batters struck out. They started the game in the lead.

He grabbed his glove and booked it out to second base.

They lost.

But only by one run, and the rookies had given a hell of a showing, taking an early lead, and ending the game six runs to seven. Bucky got back to the dressing room and there were offers on the table, so to speak. 

_If you can say yes today, you can say yes next week._

Bucky took cards from prosectives, but didn’t commit. There was time. There would be time. He was going to make things work out differently.

Finally, he escaped to find his friends, with Steve, of all people, proudly holding out a scuffed ball. “Your foul,” he explained. “Tony bought it off some guy, said it would be worth a lot, someday. You want to sign it?”

Bucky almost wept. “Hell, yeah!”

Clint had a marker on him, which he handed over while the others crowded around with their congratulations and excited chatter.

Bucky signed the ball with a flourish, J. Bucky Barnes, and blew on the ink to dry it. “Take care of that.” And he handed it to Tony.

“I gotta get my gear from the hotel, call Ma, and then I’m up for a little celebratin’,” Bucky said. “Not too much, though. School tomorrow, unfair as that seems.”

“We’ll make the most of the trip home,” Tony promised. “We’ll get checked out, too, and pick you up at your hotel.”

Bucky got back to his hotel, packed his things, and put his jersey back on over his tee, feeling the need to wear it while they celebrated. He said goodbye to the rookie team friends he’d made, and was just getting out from the front desk when he all but walked into his father.

“No,” Bucky said, taking a step back. “No, you don’t get to do this--”

George held out a hand. “Son, I’m sorry.”

Bucky took a breath. “Are you? Sorry? I ain’t sure I believe that. Think maybe you’re like a thief that’s real sorry he got caught and is going to jail. I was wrong, earlier. You ain’t my dad. I don’t need a dad. I don’t-- I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

He shouldered past George, and thank Christ, he saw Tony climbing out of a huge limo that pulled up right in front of the hotel.

If nothing else, he was going to get to make a dramatic exit. “Come on, come on, let’s go. We can sort the bags out later, take ‘em, go, go.” Bucky jerked his chin back behind him.

Tony raised his eyebrows but willingly succumbed to Bucky’s urgency, scooping up the suitcase and carrying it around to the trunk. “You go ahead and get in the car, superstar,” he said cheerfully. “Save me a seat.”

Inside the limo, Steve was wedged between Natasha and Clint on one bench seat, happily arguing with them about... something that made no sense and probably didn’t even matter anyway. Opposite them, Jim was in one corner, slumped against the window with his feet propped on Clint’s lap. He perked up a little when Bucky climbed in.

“Hey, it’s the man of the hour! Come on, have a seat. There’s drinks and snacks and shit in the cooler.”

“Is there any beer?” Bucky wondered, opening up the cooler and digging through it. “I gave up partying with the team to hang with you guys.” He was not, in fact, upset about that at all, but he was going to soak it for all it was worth.

“Of course there is not beer, we are underage!” Natasha said loudly. She reached out with her foot and prodded at the cooler lid, however, to reveal two six-packs of some beer Bucky had never heard of before but which looked like craft brews. She winked at Bucky.

Tony climbed into the car a moment later and knocked on the privacy screen between their compartment and the driver’s. It must have been the signal to go, because rather than opening the screen, the limo smoothly pulled out of the hotel’s lot.

Bucky cracked the beer, tipping it up and guzzling it. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t terrible. Sam Adams must not have come along just yet with their emphasis on Hops is God. He belched, then-- “My dad came in to see me off.”

“That sonovabitch,” Steve growled. “He just wants to leech off you, now you’ve got a chance of making bank.”

“I hope you told him off,” Clint agreed.

Tony settled in at Bucky’s side, snuggling shamelessly now that they were amongst friends. “Damn; I should’ve told the driver to run him over.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “It’s better this way. Best revenge? Living well. It’s gonna be okay.” He tucked the half-empty beer can between his thighs and put his arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Thanks for gettin’ me out of there. Honest, if I had to stay much longer, I mighta actually lost my cool.”

By which he probably meant that he would have cried, angry tears, not sad ones, but he knew well enough that people always misinterpreted tears. It sucked, but there it was. If George had seen Bucky cry about it, he would have known that he’d won.

And he’d won _nothing_.

Bucky wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“Glad to be of service,” Tony chirped. He opened a compartment in the sidewall and pulled out a case of CDs, tossing it onto Jim’s lap. “Pick us out some road tunes, sugarbear.”

Jim rolled his eyes but started flipping through the case.

By the time they had reached the interstate, almost everyone had a beer, and Bucky was regaling them with stories about practice and the game and the offers he'd gotten. 

"I'm not gonna drop out of school, though," he said. "that ain't no kind of plan. But this one for a short season? Might do that one."

“You’re only a few months from graduating,” Jim pointed out. “Might’s well wrap it up. Something to fall back on when you’re a decrepit old man of thirty-seven and have to retire from the field anyway.”

"Hey, thirty-seven is hardly _old_ ," Bucky protested, "Nolan Ryan is in his fifties and he's still one of the best pitchers out there."

That devolved into a discussion about aging athletes, but Bucky couldn’t help but notice Steve frequently dropping out of the discussion to stare out the window at the passing road. Thinking, maybe, about his plan to save up for a bike and drive cross-country. It had been successful for him, in Bucky’s original timeline, but Bucky wondered if it still would be. Had he changed things for more than himself?

How much, Bucky wondered, had he changed? And did he have the right to? Was his free will worth someone else's future?

It wasn't like it mattered, Bucky decided. He was changing things and he was helpless not to. Other people would never know.

Well except maybe Natasha, who was, oddly enough, watching _Steve_.

Tony bumped against Bucky’s side. “Hey, whatcha thinking about?”

"I'm thinking-- five or so years from now, I'm gonna sign on for the Yankees, you're gonna be working on your doctorate, and we'll all get together for a reunion party and have fancy cocktails on your yacht or something."

Tony hummed. “That sounds nice. You think they’ll keep you in the minors for five whole years?”

"Nah," Bucky said. "I'll get signed on somewhere crappy first. Like the _Dodgers_." He waited to see if Steve would take that bait.

“Okay, first of all,” Steve said, head whipping around, “ _fuck you_. At least the Dodgers have some _integrity_ , they don’t have to _buy_ their way to the pennant--”

Bucky cracked up. "Good God, you're an easy mark, Stevie. Here, have a beer, loosen up. Look, I don't really care where I play, I just want to do it."

“You will,” Tony said confidently. “You’re going to be in the Hall of Fame one day.”

"That sounds great," Bucky said. He let himself slip into daydreams, Tony at his side, sneaking away from business to go to a home game, crashing in Bucky's road hotels. 

It was possible, maybe. That Bucky could have everything. Tony and his dreams.

"What… uh. What are you gonna do? Once you get your degree? What are _your_ dreams, Tony?"

“Mm. I mean, my _dream_ is to go into robotics. Or maybe A.I.; there’s some really fascinating stuff to be done there. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.” He slumped against Bucky a little harder, as if Bucky’s arm around him could shield him from the future. “Dad’s probably going to drag me into the business.”

Bucky almost yelped; Natasha kicked him painfully in the ankle. "I don't see why you should," Bucky said. "I mean robots. That's cool stuff, babe. That's the future right there. Smart homes that start your dinner and order your groceries for you. People will pay for that."

Tony sighed glumly. “Try telling that to my dad. Actually, don’t. He’ll just go on and on and on about needing to leave the business in capable hands, and about how speculative research doesn’t put food on the table or provide for your family, and... ug.”

"Uh, you're a _billionaire_ ," Bucky said. "Or you will be. I don't think even if you have Donald Trump levels of idiocy, you're in any danger of starving to death."

Tony’s mouth twisted. “ _I’m_ not a billionaire,” he pointed out. “My _dad_ is. If I don’t follow the path he thinks I should follow...” He drew a line across his throat.

"Then… what? You give up everything you want? Tony… don't do that. You deserve to be happy, too," Bucky said, almost pleading with him. "Look worst comes to worst, you can be my sugar baby when I'm making a million a season."

Tony laughed a little, but it didn’t have a lot of oomph behind it. “You just... You haven’t met Dad. If you had, you’d understand.” He grimaced. “Not that I want to subject you to that.”

"Yeah, no," Bucky said. "But you know, people talk. I think, I mean, you're a genius, Tony. There's no reason you can't make your own fortune. So to speak."

Tony chewed on his lip. “You think so?”

“Listen to your boy, here, Tones,” Jim said. “You do what makes _you_ happy. The only person in the world you have to live with your whole life is _you_. Why make yourself miserable?”

"Well maybe a few other people happy," Bucky said, reasonably. "But I'm easy to please."

Liar.

Tony smiled at him anyway. “I bet I could make you happier,” he teased.

“Ew, no, stop it, no flirting when we have to listen to it!” Clint protested.

"Yeah, maybe you could," Bucky said, ignoring Clint. "So long as you don't become your dad."

Tony stuck out his tongue. “I should be offended that you’d even entertain the _possibility_.”

"Don't stick that out unless you're planning on using it," Bucky teased.

“No,” Natasha said firmly. “I am with Clint. No using of tongues or other parts while there is an audience.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at her, instead.

"Close your eyes, then," Bucky suggested, turning Tony's chin back toward him. It was a little difficult to kiss him when he was laughing and Tony laughing, and Clint was gagging. But trying was entirely worth the effort.

If nothing else, it perked up Tony’s mood, and he snuggled so close to Bucky that he was practically sitting on Bucky’s lap for the rest of the ride.


	14. Chapter 14

“We should go on an actual date,” Bucky said.

“Yeah?” Tony smiled briefly and then immediately frowned in thought. “We could go see a show, I guess, though there’s nothing really great on Broadway right now.”

“That’s not what I--”

“One of those riverboat cruises? Carriage ride in Central Park? Help me out, here, I don’t know--”

“I meant,” Bucky interrupted, “that _I_ should take _you_ out.”

Tony blinked at him, as if the sentence had been in an obscure foreign language. “You what?”

“I want to take you out,” Bucky repeated patiently. Bucky had spent years watching Tony guard himself against people who only wanted to use him for his money. Even now, he was wary of every new person he met. If Tony had any doubts about Bucky’s motives, Bucky wanted to lay them to rest.

Tony was still blinking. “I am, as you have pointed out, _literally_ a billionaire.”

“You can get the next one, then,” Bucky offered.

Tony practically _melted_ into Bucky’s arms and kissed him to within an inch of his life. “You are... you are just _amazing_ ,” he breathed.

Now, Bucky just had to figure out what to _do_ for a date.

“Hey, no, I have an idea,” Bucky said. “Hear me out, okay. I uh… Steve and I went to the museum, but. He was all obsessed with this one painting, and I didn’t get to look at anything else. So, maybe we could do that, because I would, actually, kinda like to see some of the art there. You said you didn’t really _get_ paintings, mostly, but maybe… maybe you need to see it with the right idea in mind. Of feeling it, a little. Do you want to?”

Tony tipped his head, considering. “It’s not my first choice, I admit, but I’m game to try.” He gave Bucky that sunny grin. “I’d pretty much try anything, as long as you’ll be there with me.” His nose wrinkled. “Just so you know, in my head that was a sort of sexy tease, not unbearably sappy.”

Bucky kissed the tip of Tony’s nose. “I _like_ unbearably sappy,” he said. “So, that’s okay. We’ll have fun.”

“Sure,” Tony said, though he looked very slightly dubious. “If nothing else, there are probably some dark corners we can desecrate.”

“Well, you know, all good art should be nailed against the wall,” Bucky pointed out, and then laughed as Tony swatted him for the bad joke, which was completely fair.

“Museum, then,” Tony said. “It’s a date.”

“It is,” Bucky said. “It’s a date. An actual date.”

So weird, being giddy with anticipation over a date to the museum where he’d already had a _bad_ date. On the other hand, it was probably better to know if Bucky was operating under some sort of bad-date-curse or if it was Steve, or maybe the museum was the problem.

“I’m an idiot,” he moaned to Natasha later, on the phone. He’d finally had to confess to Ma that he’d bought the extended phone cord, and she laughed at him. But then she’d suggested if he really needed to talk privately, he could drag the phone out the window and sit on the fire escape. Which is where he was.

There was something oddly peaceful, being above the city like he was, out on the fire escape. 

“Just say ‘you are an idiot, James,’ and let me just-- walk into traffic or something,” Bucky continued.

“You _are_ an idiot,” Natasha allowed, “but before you walk into traffic, I wish to know details of this idiocy.”

“I’m takin’ Tony on the same date that I already went on,” Bucky said. “I don’t know what I was thinkin’. He’s gonna _hate_ me.”

“That seems unlikely,” Natasha said. “Though you possibly should not end it in a fistfight, this time.”

“That was not my fault,” Bucky protested. “I tried-- you’re laughing at me.”

“Of course I am laughing at you. You are laughable. People go on repeat dates all the time. Favorite restaurants, activities. You are not unique.”

“I just-- I don’t know,” Bucky said. “We didn’t do this, any of this, before. We went to prom. That was all, and then we were married. Everything happened all backward.”

“Then you should stop looking for your past and enjoy the present,” Natasha said. “Idiot.”

“Yeah, I-- I’m trying to, Natasha. I just keep wondering, what if I screw it up? What if I screw everything up, and no one’s happy. That seems like a waste.”

“It would be more of a waste not to try.” Natasha huffed. “Tony is not delicate and breakable. If you screw up, then apologize. It is not the end of the world.”

“I used to tell myself that it didn’t matter,” Bucky said. “That the stuff that happened in high school was bullshit and that no one remembered or cared about it anymore, and I’m starting to think that’s not true. That-- it can matter. I just want to do the right thing. The best thing.”

“You love him, yes? Then ask yourself why it went wrong, the first time, even though you loved him. Was that something you could change?”

“I used t’ think maybe it was Howard,” Bucky said. “The accident, an’ all that. Tony-- Tony was so young for that, he hadn’t. I mean, I lost my father, too, it wasn’t the end of everything. But it was hard. It was tough, losing your father and wondering if you did something wrong, if you were a bad son. But I got to deal with it? I had some closure, I guess, now, but I’m not sure now that closure… means anything. I don’t feel any different about his lying ass, or myself. So, maybe that’s not it.”

“Maybe not,” Natasha allowed. “Especially for how long you say passed. So what else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “We were good, at first, even with our disappointments. I was never going to play again, an’ I needed the help, learning how to do everything again. And Tony-- he was happy to help me. It was good for him, I think. Someone who needed him so bad. And then-- it just stopped. Not all at once, but a little at a time. He slipped away from me. Stopped caring so much about… everything turned into the business, always the business. He was making money hand over fist, everything Tony touched turned to gold, but it never seemed to be enough.”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “The business, that is what his father wants for him. He doesn’t seem to want it, now -- do you think he changed? Was the business his passion?”

“ _Mr. Stark’s a national treasure_ ,” Bucky said, imitating that guy, what was his name? Senator something or other. Asshole. “I think… I don’t think he likes it anymore now -- my now -- than he ever did. But it seemed like everyone… _expected_ it from him. His guardian, Stane, who became like his business partner. Everyone, I mean, he was always in the papers. Man of the Year. He won so many awards, he’s -- everyone knows who he is, everyone wants to take a bite of him. You know, Rhodey ends up becoming a full bird colonel -- he’d have done it on his own, no doubt about it -- but early. Because he’s the liaison to Stark Weapons division. Tony won’t work with anyone else. He’s a handful.”

“I believe that,” Natasha said, sounding fond. “All that success, all that expectation... You said it was good for him, to help you. Do you still need him? In your time?”

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to piece through everything. It seemed like everything had fallen apart so quickly, but at the same time, so slow he’d missed all the warning signs. Like, it was gone, before he even knew he needed to hold onto it. “We had-- not a fight, really. But a misunderstanding. Capital M. He… oh, he got really excited at one point, had some ideas about building me a robot arm. And I-- he’d already given us so much, my medical bills, and he bought Ma’s condo, and he gave Becca, oh, god, the wedding, it was crazy and huge and Becca loved every second of it. Probably almost more than she loves Richard Proctor. He wanted to-- do a wireframe, and start working on ideas, and-- I told him no. I said… I said _I didn’t need it_.”

“Ahh.” It was almost more a breath than a real sound. “Tony is a... a _fixer_. He wants to make things better, always. He is very bad at appreciating the way something _is_ , if he can see a way to make it better. Easier, faster, more efficient, yes? And most especially, he wants to make things better for the people he loves.”

“That was-- that was the first time I really got angry, too,” Bucky said. “Few months after Becca’s wedding, the paps insinuated that he was seein’ some Maxim cover model. Behind my back. And I went digging in the accounts, and he’d paid off some of her bills -- hospital, I don’t remember what for. And-- I guess that was… pretty much where everything started to go wrong. Not, not like really wrong, not immediately. And hell, not even really now. It’s-- I mean, he-- he just ignores me, most of the time.”

“Do you think he cheated on you? With this model, or anyone else?”

“He always said he didn’t, he wouldn’t,” Bucky said. “But I couldn’t see why he’d still want me. One-armed _freak_. I just-- I guess I wouldn’t have kept asking about it, if I believed him, all the way down.”

“So perhaps this ignoring is not a loss of interest, but a way to protect himself,” Natasha suggested. “You no longer need him. No longer trust him. And he does not know how to make it _better_. So he pushes everything aside. Pretends everything is fine -- which he cannot do if he pays attention.”

“‘Course I need him. I’m always gonna need him,” Bucky protested. “I just… I can do some things myself, he don’t gotta baby me.”

“But that is not how he sees it,” she pressed. “That is not what he heard, no matter what your words were. It is possible that the distance began as him trying to step back and let you do things yourself, as you wish, and then he did not know how to connect, anymore, because he is also an idiot.”

“Don’t think I ain’t notice the _also_ in that sentence, Romanoff,” Bucky said. “I didn’t… I just didn’t want Tony to _have to_ do everything for me, you know? I felt… spent a lot of time feeling like nothing. Like I didn’t have any value, that I couldn’t do anything. I wanted to be… famous for being something other than Tony Stark’s husband. Was that selfish? That I wanted to be someone on my own?”

“Of course not,” Natasha said. “But did you explain that to Tony? He is very, very smart. But not so much with people. He can read numbers and code; he cannot read minds.”

“No,” Bucky said, slowly. “Bad enough feelin’ like I’m worthless, I wasn’t gonna put it in words and have him look at me with that… _pity_.” Bucky found himself tucking the phone under his chin and rubbing at his left hand. Relishing the feel of skin under his fingers. The way it moved, and the way he could just-- do things. It wasn’t that he’d never learned to do stuff one-handed. He had. But the world wasn’t built for him, and he just had to go slower. Think things through, like he was a stranger in a strange land, and the strange land was his own damn body.

“Tony is not good at pity,” Natasha said, a little dry. “Everything is a problem to solve. So how do you avoid these feelings, this time around?”

“You mean, aside from the obvious?” Bucky wondered. “Not gettin’ in the damn accident to start with.”

“Yes, aside from that,” she said, dismissively. “Even with both arms, even with a place on the Yankees roster, there will be times that you feel, not like _Bucky Barnes_ , but _Tony Stark’s boyfriend_. Or husband, if it comes to that. It is not easy, to stand in someone’s shadow. And Tony’s shadow will be long.”

“I guess,” Bucky said, slowly. “I suppose I could have gone on to school. I don’t even know why I didn’t. I spent a few years bein’ kind of in a funk about it, and then it just seemed too late, and kind of pointless. Tony has three doctorate degrees, what difference would a bachelor’s be? But maybe. Maybe I should have done that. Coach… suggested that if I couldn’t do, I could always teach. Get a degree an’ coach high school baseball. And I just. Ignored it.”

“It is a thought,” Natasha agreed. “You could go to school and teach. You could do a thousand things. The one thing that you must do, though? Is be honest with Tony about your feelings. And demand that he be honest, in turn, with you. You should each know when the other is hurt, or sad, or angry. Otherwise, some new misunderstanding will occur, and things fall apart again.”

“That sounds so easy,” Bucky said, “but you know it ain’t. Me bein’ pathetic about the whole thing-- that’s a me problem. There’s nothing Tony could do about that, I didn’t want him to feel guilty about it, or like… things had to change. What were we going to do about any of it? I lost my arm, no amount of wishing was going to stick it back on. Shows what I know, but I didn’t know that, then-- I didn’t know… any of this was possible.”

“And yet, when Tony wanted to give you an arm back, you rebuffed him,” she pointed out. “And did not explain _why_ , so he is left to assume the worst -- because it is Tony, and he will assume the worst, always.”

Bucky shook his head. “I wonder if he could,” he said. “Actually build one. He was talkin’ about it, like he could-- I don’t know, wire it in, that it would be… part of me. Not just a prosthetic, but fully functional. I think. Maybe I was scared, too. That it wouldn’t work, and it’d be almost as bad as the first time. Funny, the things you get used to.”

Natasha hummed. “I think that Tony should not be underestimated. Also, I think none of this is relevant to your date, which you are going to be late for, if you do not pull yourself together.”

Bucky checked the time, then yelped. “I’m an idiot,” he repeated, which had really been the start of the conversation. “Okay, I’m goin’.”

He scrambled in the window, shutting it and locking it behind him, grabbed his sport coat, and kissed Rachel. Becca disdained him again, which was fine, she was just like that. “Love you both, let Ma know I’ll be in late.”

Out the door and down to the bus, just in time, too, because it was pulling up to the spot as he arrived, but he was there, and that was good. The plan was to meet Tony in front of the museum, and then they’d ride home with Jarvis after. So, probably no time for fights at the bus stop anyway.

He got off the bus, went over to the stone general, pointing his sword and standing in stone stirrups, looking off in the distance.

He didn’t see Tony, but that was okay, at least for a bit. Maybe--

Just down the block from the museum was a smallish flower cart. He bought a single flower, a daisy, and the florist tied a ribbon around it with a stick-pin so that Tony could wear it. If he wanted to. Maybe-- Bucky shelled out a dollar for his prize and went back to the statue. And Tony was there, looking back in the direction of the bus stop.

“You shouldn’t loiter around here,” Bucky said, mock-sternly. “Who knows what ideas people might get, they see you hanging around on the street.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony turned to face Bucky, a smile blooming on his face. “Why, am I giving you ideas?”

“You always give me ideas,” Bucky said. “I… speakin’ of ideas, I--” He looked Tony over, who was also wearing a jacket, even if it was over one of his ratty heavy metal tees. “Here.” He tugged on Tony’s jacket, straightening out the lapel. “I brought you a flower. I thought-- you could wear it, maybe?”

Tony’s mouth opened, and then closed, and he stared at the daisy as if he thought it might jump up and start dancing. “I, that’s... No one ever gave me a flower before.” That pretty blush was blooming on his cheeks. “Okay, yeah, let’s -- pin it on for me?”

“ _I thank heaven someone’s crazy enough to give me a daisy_ ,” Bucky quoted, positioning the tiny blossom and its ribbon on Tony’s jacket, fussing with it until it was straight, and then pinning it in place. “e.e. cummings. Although the poem’s actually about politics.”

“Flowers _and_ poetry,” Tony said, craning his neck to admire the little flower before looking back up at Bucky with a bright smile. “You could turn a guy’s head with all that.”

“Only head I want to turn is yours,” Bucky said, “so you’ll have to let me know if it works.” He didn’t quite dare hold Tony’s hand out in public, that was just asking for trouble, but they walked very close to each other, into the museum.

“Pick a direction,” Bucky said. “The layout is a couple of circles, so we can go either way and still see most everything.”

Tony peered through the halls that were visible from the lobby, then pointed toward the modern art. “How about there?”

Bucky nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed. 

The exhibits were nice, Bucky thought. Well spaced and lit, it was easy to see each painting, to get almost close enough to touch them. There were small, blind corners, so you could look at each work without getting distracted by other passersby. Or steal a quick kiss without being seen, and Bucky took advantage of that. Because it wouldn’t be any fun, otherwise.

“Oh, look. Hackson Pollock,” Bucky muttered as they came into a room of his work.

Tony laughed, but he positioned himself in front of the largest piece and tipped his head this way and that. “Okay, but I have to admit it looks better in real life than as a print. The prints are missing...” He spread his hands helplessly. “Something. It feels more visceral, standing here.”

“It’s a man, throwing paint at a very large canvas and screaming, _notice me, I’m an American_ ,” Bucky said. “I mean, yeah, it looks interesting on a wall, but he wasn’t feeling it. He was just showing off. It’s all technique.”

Tony didn’t look convinced.

“It would be like, say, Justin Hammer, making a copy of DUM-E, all flash and fancy body. No heart.”

“Okay, now that’s just hitting where it hurts,” Tony said, laughing. “Anyway, do I have to care what the artist’s motives and intentions were if I like the result?” He tipped his head again.

“Well, no,” Bucky said, hesitantly. “I mean, it’s kind of like enjoying a book and ignoring the fact that the author is a screaming homophobe. You can still like the book; just… do you want to give money to someone like that? I mean, Pollock’s _dead_ , so I suppose you could buy one of his paintings, and it doesn’t matter to him at all.”

It was there, nascent, but the argument that had Bucky and Pepper practically throwing things at each other about a dead man’s art… it was there.

He couldn’t help but grin about it with the weirdest sense of nostalgia. Tony had bought the painting because _he liked it_. And Bucky had never realized that, before.

“Art _is_ \-- if it makes you feel something, it’s doing its job,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, I guess.” Tony gave the painting another long look, then shrugged and turned to move onward. “So I shouldn’t get you a Pollock for your birthday, is what I’m getting out of this,” he added, smirking.

“Oh sure, you do that,” Bucky said. “I’ll turn right around an’ sell it an’ buy something decent. Basquiat’s stuff is fun, if you like modern expressionism.”

“I don’t even know what that means, really,” Tony pointed out, “but sure, show me Basket’s art.”

Bucky snorted, and consulted his little pamphlet with the map. “This way,” he said, and they headed off in that direction, weaving around a large group of women wearing purple dresses and red hats. “Holler if you want to stop an’ look at something else, you know. We got all afternoon, and it’s not going anywhere.”

“I’ll let you know if I see something I like,” Tony agreed. 

It didn’t take too long to find the display he wanted; although he did have to stop and gawk at a sculpture that he hadn't seen before. Finally though, they were in front of the piece that Bucky wanted to show Tony. “I like this; it looks like… graffiti, a little. Street taggers. There’s a very… raw feel to it.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “I can see that.” He stepped back, far enough to look at the whole thing at once. “So what’s it make you feel?”

“It’s triumphant, like -- proving something. But bitter, a little, underneath. Like, you shouldn’t have to prove you’re human, you’re worthy, but people don’t always see it. You’re nothing, until you’re someone,” Bucky said. “This is like, the triumph of the human spirit, but-- with the awareness that it’s so easy to fall back into that hole, that the world can just chew you up and spit you out.”

Tony looked at him with wide, startled eyes. “That’s... that’s a lot,” he said. “You’ve really put some thought into this one, huh?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Bucky admitted. “I mean. It’s… this one particular, I can relate.” Probably a bit deeper than he’d been in high school. He’d had time, time to have opinions on things that most students didn’t care about yet, or didn’t have time to think about. Made him look smarter, maybe, but all it was was time. Time and a drop of water can eventually put a hole in the planet. “Sorry, is it a bit of a downer?”

“No, it’s really cool. All I’ve got is that it looks kind of angry.”

Bucky took another long, longing look at the painting. “Okay, your turn. Find something you like. We can make up shit about the artist’s use of color and how it symbolizes springtime, or something.”

Tony laughed and looked around the room. “I wrote a bullshit essay once for English class about the symbolism and theme for _Dogs Playing Poker_.”

“Yeah, you’ve got the idea,” Bucky said. “I mean, really, it’s not about the creator’s intentions, it’s about what you see.”

“Yeah?” Tony turned around and squared his hands into a frame, peering through it at Bucky. “A masterpiece,” he gushed.

“Flirt,” Bucky accused, grinning.

“You like it,” Tony shot back. “Come on, let’s go look at some old stuff now.”

Bucky took the opportunity to put his hand on Tony’s elbow and guide him into the next room, relishing the little bit of contact between them.

Tony seemed to appreciate it, too, leaning into the touch and giving Bucky a sidelong glance through his long eyelashes. “I’m having fun. What about you? Are you enjoying this?”

“I am,” Bucky said, which was good, because it meant that neither Bucky, nor museums, were the problem. It was all about who you were spending time with.

They wandered into a hall of marble statues, and Tony wound up utterly fascinated by one -- more caught up in the technical details than the actual art, but that was okay, because unlike Steve, who let his fascination absorb him, Tony pulled Bucky along, pointing out faint stress cracks in the stone and the way the artist had worked _with_ them, incorporating them into the piece. He enthused about the skill it must have taken to so precisely place the slender supports that kept the whole thing from crumbling under its own weight, and wondered about the techniques used to carve in hard-to-reach spots.

“My guess? He was broke,” Bucky said. “Marble’s pricy, and he had to be like _this will work, or I’mma die hungry_.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, quite possibly.” He peered into a deep crevice, then shook himself and straightened. “Okay, sorry, your turn again.”

They went through the whole museum like that, no particular order, talking about art and the craft. 

"You should teach DUM-E to paint," Bucky said. "If nothing else for sheer novelty value. You could sell off prints of interesting ones and originals for collector's items. Like they do with otters."

Tony snorted. “And get my workshop completely covered in paint in the process?” He shook his head, but when Bucky glanced at him again, he had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was putting together bits of code for the project.

As they were leaving the museum, they found another dark nook and Tony glanced around before pulling Bucky into it. Tony nudged Bucky up against the wall and then leaned into Bucky’s body, pinning him in place. “I had a really good time. Thank you.” Tony smiled, almost shyly, before tipping his chin up to catch Bucky’s mouth in a kiss. 

Bucky all but melted into it, hands going around Tony's back, then sneaking lower until he had his fingers tucked in Tony's back pockets. "Glad to hear it," Bucky said, low and hoarse when he finally let go, coming up for air with a gasp. "I… thank you, for you know, going out with me, an' uh… yeah. I'm glad."

Tony giggled a little and kissed Bucky again, a little less thoroughly, and then again before finally, reluctantly, pulling away. “Guess we should go find Jarvis, huh.”

"Yeah," Bucky said, finger combing his hair into some sort of order. "Gift shop? They might have a postcard of Pollock's stuff. Your own little piece."

Tony laughed. “Sure, let’s go see.”

They did, along with other random prints and cards. Bucky eyed a sweatshirt with _The Scream_ on it, even though it wasn't in that museum, but put it down when he noticed Tony noticing.

Two postcards and a keychain with Tony's name on it ("they never have my name, you should be happy" Bucky teased) later, they made their way outside where Jarvis was waiting.

“Good evening, Anthony, Mr. Barnes,” Jarvis said, opening the car door for them. “I trust you had a pleasant excursion?”

"Yeah," Bucky said. "It was great. I think I just about have Tony convinced that art's not a complete waste of time. Producing or viewing." He nudged Tony, who pouted at him until Bucky was forced to poke his ribs to make him smile again.

Tony slipped his hand into Bucky’s, even as he was chattering on to Jarvis about the things he’d liked, the ideas the sculpture had given him for his robotics experiments, and other inconsequentials. He laced their fingers together and squeezed, thumb brushing lightly back and forth over the pulse point in Bucky’s wrist.

When they got closer to Bucky's address, he learned forward. "This is… this is good, Mr. Jarvis. I can walk from here."

“We can take you the whole way,” Tony said. “It’s not a problem.”

Bucky tried to conceal a wince. "I know," he tried. "I jus'-- this is good. It's not that far." He gave Jarvis a quick, pleading look, hoping he'd understand and then _be honest about your feelings._ "Tony, my place isn't. You know. Very nice. Or anything like it."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but then he paused, studying Bucky’s expression with a faint frown. “You don’t-- It matters, huh? Okay.” He bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Be safe. I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

"It matters. I'm sorry," Bucky said, unable to explain any better than that. "Yeah, call me, okay."

Bucky glanced over and Jarvis was studiously not looking at them. He leaned in, really quick, and kissed Tony's cheek.

Tony pressed his hand to his cheek, smiling helplessly. “Okay. I had a great time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Bucky watched them go before heading for the front of his building. The inside front hall smelled like wet papers and mold. He sighed, wishing it didn't matter. 

But it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Basquiat piece](https://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/jean-michel-basquiat-1960-1988-untitled-boxer-5147473-details.aspx).


	15. Chapter 15

Funny, Bucky was thinking, when his Ma handed him the phone with “It’s Steve Rogers, poor love,” how fast time went by. It had been January, and then it was the end of March, and Steve was calling to say that Sarah Rogers had died. 

She’d gone into the hospital two days ago -- Ma had made a casserole and had Bucky walk it over so Steve didn’t have to cook -- and never come back.

There was nothing Bucky could have done to change it, but even so, there was a squirm of guilt there anyway, because he’d known it was coming. On the other hand, he suspected Sarah Rogers had known, too, months ago, and decided that it was inevitable, trying to hang on just long enough to get Steve through high school.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said, taking the phone.

“Buck,” Steve said. His voice broke, and he choked through a sob and a sniffle. “My ma--”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky said, knowing. “I’m so _sorry_. What do you need, what can-- should I come get you, are you still at the hospital?”

“ _Yeah, she died in her sleep,” Steve said, twenty years ago. He wasn’t crying. Bucky didn’t know why he wasn’t crying. If Bucky’s Ma had died, Bucky would be sobbing like a baby. Maybe it was shock. “I-- her boss’s helping me handle the arrangements. I just-- I have some things for you, why don’t you come on over?”_

“Nah, I’m home now.” Steve sniffled again. He was crying this time, and Bucky didn’t know what that meant. “Nat gave me a ride. But if you wanted to, you know. Come over? I think there’s some stuff here that’s yours, maybe. I don’t--” He broke off, breath hitching loudly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right over,” Bucky said, already grabbing his shoes and stuffing his feet into them without socks. “Stevie-- I’m sorry, man, this sucks so hard. Be right there.”

Bucky dropped the phone in the cradle. “Ma--”

“Go on, Jimmy. Stay over if he needs you to, or bring him back here. Poor lamb ought not be alone right now,” Ma said.

Bucky put a little extra emphasis in giving his Ma a hug and kiss. “Love you to the moon and back.” 

And then he was gone, all but running down the road, and he would have been, except he was in a bad neighborhood and cops tended to assume if you were running that you’d done something to be arrested for. He was still breathing hard and sweating by the time he rounded the block and raced up the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. 

“Steve--”

“ _You know, you can come stay with us, if you want. We’ll put the couch cushions on the floor, it’ll be like old times.”_

“ _I can get by on my own.”_

“ _Steve, the thing is, you don’t have to. Come on, stay at least until school is over. We can get a small place together after that, get jobs, come on--”_

“ _No. I’m-- this was always the plan. It’s just. Now, rather than later.”_

The door opened just as Bucky was raising his hand to knock, but instead of Steve there, it was Natasha, looking pale and solemn. “Bucky. Good. Come. He needs us.” She swung the door open a little wider and let Bucky in.

Steve was sitting on the floor in the shabby living room, elbows propped on the rickety coffee table, head in his hands. What little Bucky could see of his face was red. “Hey, Buck,” he said, and his voice was stuffy and congested-sounding.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, and he dropped onto the floor next to Steve. He floundered around for something to say, but all the platitudes seemed tired and useless. Sarah had died in pain, she wasn’t in a better place (she would have vastly preferred, Bucky assumed, to stay with her son who needed her), it hadn’t been quick. Steve was an orphan, he wasn’t even an adult yet, and there were no other blood relations. Steve had left, before, and Bucky had missed him, but at the same time, what had been Steve’s other choice? Become a ward of the state for four months? Moving from foster home to foster home, or stuck in some group care facility? “Ma… Ma wants you to know, and I-- you should come and stay with us. We can… you can stay with us.”

Steve looked up, and his eyes were red and puffy. “Buck, I... I don’t know--”

“Yes,” Natasha said, gentle but firm. “You must stay with someone. You cannot stay here alone.”

“I... I was kind of thinking...” Steve took a deep breath and looked into the distance, between Bucky and Natasha. “I might just... _go_.”

“ _What do I have to stay here, for? I got my bike, I got my license. I even have a tent. I’m… I’m going to leave. There’s nothing here for me.”_

“Steve--”

“ _Come with me, Buck. What do you say, you-- just for the summer, maybe, see how it goes? You can always hit the baseball draft next year?”_

“You could come with me,” Steve said, that hopeful, pleading tone Bucky remembered. But when he looked up to answer, Steve wasn’t looking at Bucky. He was looking at _Natasha_.

She shook her head. “I will finish school,” she said. “It is only a few more weeks. And then I will go with you, wherever you like.”

“What’s the _point?_ ” Steve complained. “It’s all just bullshit.”

“It is bullshit that governs whether we can get jobs,” Natasha said. “You are a brilliant artist; perhaps you can survive on commissions or caricatures, but I must have a degree.” Her expression softened. “And if I will finish mine, then you can finish yours, too.”

This-- this was _new_.

Bucky blinked, and then rubbed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure Natasha wouldn’t disappear as soon as he had better focus. “What-- I mean, I hate to butt in with the cluelessness, but--” He pointed back and forth between the two of them. “This is a thing? Is this-- a thing?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and Steve huffed out something that might have charitably been called a laugh. “Yeah, for a couple of weeks now.”

“No one ever _looks_ ,” Natasha complained, and Steve reached across the table to pat her hand.

“Huh,” Bucky said. “Well, then-- good. It’s decided then. You’ll stay with us. Ma’ll figure out the legal stuff, it’s just a few months until you’re an adult, I don’t reckon the state’ll kick up too much fuss. I won’t even make you shine my shoes, just take a turn on the dishes once in a while.”

Steve smiled wanly. “You know I’ll do what I can.” He sniffled again and took the kleenex that Natasha handed him to wipe his nose, already red.

“Go pack your things,” Natasha told him. “Just enough for a couple of days. We’ll be back before then.” Steve nodded and climbed laboriously to his feet, then shuffled back toward his room.

Natasha fixed Bucky with a look. “You knew.”

“I told you, the very first-- yeah, I knew this was going to happen,” Bucky admitted. “It’s a little different. Last time she went about a week or so ago. Died in her sleep. This-- was a little better, I guess? Harder on her, maybe, but at least Steve got to say goodbye.”

Natasha nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. It is for the best, I think, that you did not tell me the date.” She sighed and pressed on her eyes as if they ached. “You will take care of him, yes?”

“Best I can,” Bucky promised. “I… I can’t believe he’s gonna stay. You-- he said there was nothin’ for him here, asked me to go with him, but I wasn’t-- I wasn’t enough for him to have a reason to stay.”

She spread her hands. “We may have to continue to talk him out of leaving,” she pointed out. “His mood is... mercurial, now.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Bucky said, reasonably. “In the end, it’s Steve’s decision, an’ I ain’t gonna be the one to try an’ take it away from him. I don’t think he should be alone, though. Not now.”

“Agreed. He has a few days off school, but they may well be filled with less pleasant work -- forms and arrangements. He will need us.”

Bucky nodded. “I can cut, tomorrow, right after homeroom, if you want. So long as I’m back before practice, no one will squawk, much.”

She considered, then shook her head. “I have been with him all day today, and you will have him all night tonight. Clint will stay with him tomorrow during school. We must be careful not to let ourselves become too tired, under the weight of it.”

Bucky nodded, slow. “You-- you care about him. He… he needs that. I don’t know what he did to catch your eye, but I’m-- it’s _interesting_. Natasha Romanoff. In love.”

“He knows what it is to see,” Natasha said simply. She didn’t try to deny her feelings. “And he is not intimidated by me.”

“Bravest man I ever met,” Bucky swore, kissing his fingers and brushing them over his heart.

“Who is?” Steve asked, coming back into the room with a battered suitcase.

“You are,” Bucky said. “Absolutely, the bravest, most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“Ain’t feelin’ too brave right now,” Steve admitted. “Is it-- Can we go? I don’t... want to be here after dark.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s bag while acting like he didn’t notice Steve trying to hold it. They were going to have to walk, and Steve wasn’t exactly graceful on his best days. “Lock up, shut off the lights, we’ll be back in a few days.”

_When you’re stronger. When you’re ready._

God, would Bucky _ever_ be ready for this? Probably not.

***

Life went on, because that’s what it did. With no respect or regard for the fallen. There were tests to take, and homework to do. Bucky fielded calls from scouts and agents. Considered a few offers.

Their school progressed to the playoffs.

Sarah Rogers was laid to rest next to her husband. Steve moved in with Bucky, officially, Ma having arranged it all. 

Bucky’s uncle called to say he was giving Bucky his old Buick, if Bucky could come out to Boston and get it. Last time around, Bucky’d taken the bus, and spent the whole time looking out the window, wondering why he hadn’t gone with Steve.

“You, uh,” Bucky said to Tony the next day at lunch. “You think your dad would miss Jarvis, if I asked for a lift out to Boston? Wanna come?”

Tony lit up. “Yeah! If we swing through Cambridge, I can just say I was apartment hunting. Dad prefers to drive himself, anyway. What’s in Boston? ”

“My mom’s brother,” Bucky said. “Uncle Frederick. You know, so silly. My grandmother named both of her kids the same name. Winifred and Frederick. I don’t even know that she knew anyone named Freddie. Anyway, Uncle Fred’s giving me his LeSabre, I just gotta go get it.”

“Oh, yeah, you mentioned that a while back!” Tony pulled his school planner out of his backpack and flipped to the calendar. “When do you want to go?”

“We’ve got a game on Thursday, and Saturday,” Bucky said. “Um, how’s Sunday? We can go out in the morning, get the car, have some lunch, and hope we don’t break down on the way back?” They probably wouldn’t. The old tank had served Bucky pretty well right up until he gave it up for letting Jarvis drive him around. One flat tire, that had been it.

“I’ll pack a road repair kit and make sure Jarvis knows to follow us back in case we run into trouble,” Tony said. He grinned. “This is going to be awesome!”

Bucky nudged him. “We’re going to drive a rusty piece of shit car four hours through Connecticut,” Bucky pointed out. “You have a strange definition of awesome.” But he was smirking, too. If nothing else, all that time together, no adults, no friends, no interruptions. Just time, to get to know each other.

Bucky gave Tony’s upper arm a squeeze and ran off to check the brackets for the playoffs. The team they’d be most likely to go against for the playoffs, barring some extraordinary luck, was undefeated. If they pulled it off, it would look amazing. Another poster near Coach’s office mentioned that the All-Star roster would be posting soon.

All-Star.

Bucky had made the All-Star twice, junior and senior year, the first time around, though he hadn’t been able to play the senior year game. He was confident.

He turned to class and hit a brick wall. Or, more exactly, a Brock wall.

“What?”

Rumlow sneered. “You think you’re going to make the All-Star list, fairy boy?”

“I just might,” Bucky said. “You know there’s no limit to the All-Star team. You could just as easily go as me-- oh, right, that would mean you might need to have a batting average above .220. My bad.” He patted Brock condescendingly on the arm and turned to walk away.

Just as he took a step, Rumlow shoved him right between the shoulder blades, _hard_. “Fuckin’ fag!”

Bucky whirled, brought a fist up. “You wanna do this? Huh? _Here_? Both of us end up off the team, and that’ll prove what, exactly? Come on, Captain, we’re gonna go to the playoffs, don’t fuck it up now.”

Rumlow looked like he was seriously considering if it was worth getting kicked off the team in order to beat Bucky up, but the vice principal rounded the corner, a small sheaf of files in his hand. “Boys? There a problem here?”

Rumlow’s lip curled. “Nah, you ain’t worth my time,” he spat, and stalked off.

“No problem, sir,” Bucky said. “We were just looking to see if the All-Stars had been posted yet.” He resettled his backpack on his shoulder. Ow, fuck, Rumlow, really? “Gotta get to class.” And he disappeared around the corner, going in the opposite direction as Rumlow. It was one thing to get in a fight, it was totally something else to do it at school. What drugs was Rumlow on that he thought scuffling at _school_ was a good plan?

Clint caught up with him two halls later. “I heard Rumlow’s looking to start something,” he warned.

“Yeah, he’s-- already starting to start something,” Bucky said, sighing. “I don’t want to fight on school grounds, but we might need to arrange something. The whole team turns out to watch, even if he decides to cheat by bringing his pals, there’s enough of us to keep it clean. He wants to fight, I’ll fight him. But there ain’t nothing to gain by being stupid about it.”

“You know the rest of us will pile on,” Clint promised. “Just say the word.”

“I don’t want a pile on,” Bucky said. “I _want_ to win the playoffs. But I’ll settle for punching that smug look off Brock’s face.”

Clint grinned. “I hear that.” He tossed a salute at Bucky and peeled off toward his history class.

Clint and Jim both stuck like glue to Bucky during practice, and again at their games. Witnesses, so Rumlow didn’t try anything. There were the normal annoyances; condoms and lube shoved in his locker, as well as folded up dirty pictures. Bucky unfolded one to look. Huh, nice. He wondered where, exactly, Rumlow and his cronies had gotten porny pictures of gay men from, and had they looked at it? They must have, to pick one and fold it up.

Funny how that made them so straight in their minds. 

Had they bought it, or stolen it from the dime store rack?

Bucky amused himself imagining Rumlow shelling out money for a gay skin magazine.

Quill came over to look over Bucky’s shoulder. “Holy shit, that can’t be _real_ ,” he said. On the other side of the room, Rollins and Rumlow were sniggering. Quill looked over the little pile of folded-up pictures. “That’s not very many,” he said, and looked over at Rumlow. “Did you keep the rest for your own collection?”

Defending the gay guy by... implying his tormenters were also gay? Well, Quill’s heart was in the right place, anyway. He could pitch a ball like he was shooting down the Death Star; he didn’t have to be a deep thinker.

“I dunno,” Bucky said, looking from the picture, and then pointedly looking Rumlow up and down. “I think Rumlow’s probably more into the blushing virgin type who doesn’t know what to expect out of a man, so can’t be disappointed with a boy.”

He tossed the pictures; it wasn’t that they weren’t sexy, but Bucky’d seen better. Hell, Bucky had _been with_ better, in another life if not yet this one.

Bucky would say this much: Rumlow played a much better ball game when he was angry. The score for the game was so high, such a large gap, that Bucky almost felt sorry for the other team. Nine to one, with Rumlow and Bucky both bringing home runs.

And winning seemed to chill Rumlow out, quite a bit. He got high praise from the coach, and at least two of the girls who came to the game were flirting with him before Coach pushed them all into the locker room for an after game pep talk.

Still, Jim stayed between Bucky and Rumlow as much as possible until Coach had finally cut them loose.

Tony, Nat, and Steve were waiting in a little knot just outside the gym, and broke into whooping cheers when the players started to file out.

“Best season _of my life_ ,” Bucky promised, giving everyone a round of high fives, and a special squeeze for Tony.

The group went out for pizza, and then Bucky had to cut the celebration short to get homework done -- and also, Steve was starting to look a bit wan. Trying to keep up the good mood when he was so understandably distraught had to be hard, and being the one to end the party would probably not do Steve any good at all. “Come on,” he said. “Steve and I can walk from here. Tony, can you make sure Nat gets home okay? She lives further out?”

“Yeah, we’ll make sure she gets where she’s going, no worries,” Tony promised. “See you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky said, and he ducked in for a greasy kiss, then made a show of wiping his mouth off, laughing as Tony looked offended.

He watched as Tony led Nat off toward Jarvis and the car, waiting until they’d turned the corner before setting out toward home.

“Sorry to be such a downer,” Steve sighed.

“It’s okay to be sad, pal,” Bucky said. “And I ain’t kidding. I’m not gonna be home on Sunday, neither, an’ if I don’t get this math done, I’m skint.” He put an arm around Steve’s bony shoulders. “Early night never hurt nobody.”

“Yeah, sure, but I’d rather spend my evening with Nat than your ugly mug.” It didn’t quite reach Steve’s usual level of teasing, but it was a solid attempt.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said, “Ma cooks better than Natasha’s foster dad anyway.” Which may have been true, Bucky didn’t know, but everything he’d heard about Russian cookery left a lot to be desired. Who thought beet soup sounded good?

“I’ll give ya that,” Steve conceded, “but Nat’s dad thinks growing kids should have vodka with dinner, so that’s kind of a toss-up.”

“That explains so much about Natasha,” Bucky mused. “You think she actually gets drunk anymore, or she’s just got more tolerance than we do?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Steve said. “I haven’t seen her tipsy yet. Or else she’s damn good at faking it.”

“We should try that for graduation, all get completely snockered. Where we’re safe and nobody’s going to do anything stupid,” Bucky said. Because they were all planning to do it anyway, might as well not drive or party with people they didn’t know.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Steve said. “Hey, so -- you’re taking Tony to prom, right?”

“He ain’t asked me yet,” Bucky pointed out. “But I expect so. It’s one of those awkward things about likin’ fellas, who pays for things and who asks who, stupid gender roles that don’t mean anything anymore and-- I don’t want to spoil it for him, if he’s got a surprise planned. I’ll give him a week to take some initiative.”

“I was just going to ask... what are you going to _wear_?” Because Steve knew damn well that Bucky couldn’t afford to rent a tux.

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Shit, I ain’t even think about that part yet. I guess I can wear my sport coat, and Sunday pants. I think those still fit. We haven’t been to church in _forever_. Could check the thrift shop, there’s usually some good pants there, six or seven dollars. Becca can do some tailoring for you, if you need it. You ask Natasha?”

“Yeah, a little, but her foster dad ain’t as broke as us, you know? She just tells me not to worry about it.”

“Bet you’ll look sharp in a tux, rented or not,” Bucky said, holding his hands up to frame the picture. Steve could look good; he just didn’t usually have clothes that fit, and he was tiny, so-- delicate, really. With a sharp face and graceful hands. “You two will look real fine together. Everyone in school will be wondering what your secret is.”

He wondered, absently, if Natasha had gotten the question about Steve’s mighty dick size. If yes, what the hell had she said? “You like her, then?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, ducking his head. “She’s just... She doesn’t play games. She doesn’t say one thing and mean another, or expect me to just _know_ what she wants, or get mad and not tell me why. She knows what she believes and what she likes and what she wants, and she just... goes for it. I like that.” He smiled, a little. “Also, she’s goddamn beautiful.”

“She is,” Bucky agreed. “Scary, though. I don’t know if she’s more like to kiss someone or kill them. I thought, maybe it was reputation or something, but she’s… she _knows_ things. It’s weird and a little freaky.”

Steve scoffed. “She’s not scary. Different, sure, but not scary.”

“Well, _I’m_ scared of her,” Bucky said. “Not the same way I’m scared of Rumlow. We’re trying to be careful, an’ I’ll be out of here soon enough, but my luck’s gonna be down one of these days, an’ he’s gonna jump out with his whole group of wannabe Nazis.”

“Yeah, well, the whole group of us’ll be waiting for it,” Steve growled. “We’ll make him sorry he was ever born.”

“He’s just scared, is all,” Bucky said. “Growing up, moving on. He’ll leave here and he won’t be king shit of turd mountain anymore. No one will care that he was captain of the team. That’s… you know, it’s scary. He’s trying to put a hurt on me because he can see me as a target. It’ll be okay, though.”

“You’re not tryin’ to get me to feel sorry for the ass, are you?” Steve snorted. “We’re all of us staring down the barrel of graduation; most of us manage to still act like fuckin’ _people_.”

“No,” Bucky said. “I ain’t. If I felt sorry for Rumlow’s shoddy ass, I wouldn’t bait him so much. He’d stop, if I acted like I was scared of him.” Well, knowing Rumlow, he probably wouldn't stop, not entirely, but he’d stop being such a goddamn bugaboo if Bucky would stop rattling his cage about Rumlow’s supposed sexuality.

“You start running, you can’t ever stop,” Steve agreed.

“No, an’ sometimes, you have to stand up, so other people know what’s right. It’s easy to follow the crowd,” Bucky said. “I stand up today, an’ some kid two years from now, it’s easier for him to stand up. I mean… well, you know what I mean.”

“I know,” Steve said, swaying a little to bump shoulders with Bucky. (Well, to bump his shoulder into Bucky’s elbow, more like.) “You’re a good guy, Buck. I hope Tony knows how lucky he is.”

“I just hope I can, you know, make it work,” Bucky said. “Natasha’s dad may not be as bad off as we are, but man, Tony makes us all look like serfs. He is rich, capital R. Maybe sometimes I think it’s not a good idea, or I dunno, I wish he was more… normal. Even a millionaire would be a little less intimidating.”

Steve frowned. “You don’t think he’s just, y’know, slumming, do you?”

“Why, do you?” Bucky didn’t. He really didn’t think that was the case; if Bucky had been nothing to Tony at all, it would have been easy to pay him off and make him leave. “I don’t think so, honest. He seems to really want someone who, you know, likes him because of him. Not because he’s a Stark.”

“Nah, just making sure. I mean, Nat would probably be able to tell for sure. But I don’t think she’d like him as much as she does if she thought he was playin’ around, you know?” Steve kicked at a rock on the sidewalk. “Maybe Tony just needs, like... a dose of reality. Something to ground him a little.” He laughed, just a little. “Tho’ I gotta say, it was kinda fun, ridin’ in a limo and swanning around, that time.”

“Hey, we could, you know, all go together,” Bucky suggested. “You know, assuming Tony’s okay with it, that would be fun, don’t you think? All of us, all pretty, and riding classy?”

“Yeah, that’d be pretty awesome,” Steve agreed. “When you two finally get yourselves sorted out, you should ask him about it.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “I’ll ask him on Sunday, then. That’ll be a good time for it.”


	16. Chapter 16

Objectively, Bucky knew there was nothing beautiful about a 1985 Buick LeSabre. It wasn’t even a solid green; the hood and one door were grey with primer, but had never been repainted. It was a four door, ugly ass _sedan_. It was… a mom car.

And Bucky loved it on sight.

There would be other cars, later. Cooler cars.

But this one.

This was _his_ car, and he earned it by right of being Winnifred Havelin’s son. His uncle, Frederick, had met them at the garage where he stored it. “Don’t drive much anymore,” he admitted, “and it seems a shame just to leave her to rust. Thought you might be able to get some use out of it.”

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Bucky said, running one hand over the hood. “She’s perfect. I’ll take good care of her, you’ll see.” He’d already had a handful of books from the library, a general guide to automotive repair, and a few specific manuals on the Buick that he and Tony had gone over thoroughly on the ride out to Boston. 

And Cambridge, where they’d had lunch and Tony had dutifully looked in exactly one apartment. It was not, Bucky noted, the one that he and Tony had shared for the first few years of their marriage. “I like this place,” Bucky had said, trying to go for nonchalant and like it didn’t matter to him at all. Because it shouldn’t, and he wasn’t sure he could live through it, a second time, that first place, with its pale heartbreak and soft desperation that Bucky’d had after the accident. 

It hadn’t quite seemed real, even though Bucky knew that the car _would be his_.

Here they were, the hood popped up, looking her over. She didn’t smell like new car at all; she smelled like dust and old man cologne. She wasn’t much to look at, and she’d be shit to drive. But it was Bucky’s car. There was--

“There’s always something about a young man’s first car,” Uncle Freddie said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Only thing better is your first--” he coughed, glanced at Tony, then Jarvis, then shrugged. “Well, you know.”

Tony looked up from where he was checking the spark plugs, looked from Bucky to Uncle Freddie and back, and winked at Bucky before putting his head back down. “This looks like it’ll get us back home,” he said, “but we’ll want to give her a tune-up before you do any more road trips.”

“Well, I trust you,” Bucky said. He gave his uncle a wide-eyed look, pretending that he didn’t understand the joke. Mostly because if he thought about it too much, he’d be bundling Tony into the backseat as soon as they could find a convenient back road. “I trust him. He’s good with engines and motors and stuff. Like, the best. I bet he could build a rocket from a box of spare parts.”

“Mm, provided the box of spare parts included some rocket fuel, maybe,” Tony hedged. “Rockets are actually pretty simple, mechanically speaking. Getting them to go where you want, that’s a bit trickier.” He pulled out of the engine and reached for the grease rag, wiping off his hands.

Bucky made a “see” gesture with one hand. “Actual facts, rocket scientist.”

“I haven’t graduated high school yet,” Tony pointed out, but he was laughing. He twisted his wrist to check his watch. “If you want to get back by dinner, we should probably hit the road soon.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” Bucky said. He leaned over to check the gas gauge, but the tank was half full. It’d probably get them most of the way home, at least. He checked his pocket to make sure he had the car’s title safe and sound. He’d have to go out to pay whatever taxes there were on the vehicle, and all that fun stuff. Later. For now, he had the temporary tags, the keys, and the title. 

“Thanks again, Uncle Freddie,” Bucky said, and gave his uncle one of those awkward side hugs that men of a certain age tended to prefer. 

“Happy birthday, kid,” Uncle Freddie said. “You’re only eighteen once.”

Well, most of the time that was true, Bucky thought. Sometimes… sometimes life gives you a second chance.

“Okay, so I’m going to ride with Bucky,” Tony said. “Just in case there’s car trouble on the way home.” He hefted his toolkit. “Jarvis, you’re going to follow us back, right?”

“Indeed,” Jarvis said. “But I have every confidence that you’ll be able to keep things running.” He looked at Bucky. “Do I understand you’re parking with us for the time being?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said. “We’ll have some work to do, and Tony said I could use his lift and tools.” He glanced at Tony. “It’s kind of a project, you know.”

“Just so,” Jarvis agreed. “When you reach the house, use Bay 4, please. Anthony knows the code.”

Bucky waited until Jarvis returned to the BMW before hissing at Tony, “how many bays do you have?”

Tony actually had to stop for a moment and think about it. “Five, at the house.”

“Yikes, well, at least I won’t be puttin’ you all out any,” Bucky said. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony said. “Bay four is mine.”

Bucky checked the map again, then handed it to Tony. “You navigate. I pick the music.” He slid into the driver’s seat and spent a few minutes adjusting it, and the steering wheel. And the mirrors. Then he turned over the engine and listened to the motor grumble. “Seatbelts. And--” He grinned at Tony, put one hand on Tony’s knee and gave a squeeze, then put the car in drive and pulled out of the garage, mashing the horn a few times as he went.

“Yeah!” Tony cheered as they pulled out, waving cheerily at Uncle Freddie, who was waving back with a huge grin. “Open road, here we come!”

Bucky mostly concentrated on driving, at least until they got to the highway. No Waze app to tell him which turn was coming up, or to route them around traffic. And no speeding, but only because Jarvis was behind them, and he’d give Bucky that Look, capital L, when they got back to Stark Manor. But, once they were out on the road, Bucky cranked up the music, rolled down the window (of course the air conditioning wasn’t working, but it was early April, so it didn’t matter all that much) and put his hand on Tony’s thigh.

Tony put his hand over Bucky’s -- not lacing their fingers, in case Bucky needed his hand quickly, but warm and present, his fingertips tracing idle little spirals on the back of Bucky’s hand. The next time the song changed, Tony wriggled, slouching down in his seat a little, dragging Bucky’s hand a little farther up his thigh.

Bucky made a sound in his throat, feeling that firm muscle under his palm. “An’ there you go again,” he said, “making me crazy.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to get a glimpse of Tony’s face, those brown eyes heavily lidded, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

“Only seems fair,” Tony said, “since I’m crazy for you about half the time.” He flashed Bucky a grin, then went back to watching the road go by. “So, uh, this is completely lame and unromantic, but... do you want to go to prom? Or, I mean, if you don’t want to make a fuss--”

“I would love to go to prom,” Bucky interrupted. “With you, I mean, _yeah_. I was-- Steve’s taking Natasha, did you know that? And-- someone told me Jim had actually asked out Carol, so-- maybe we could make a thing of it?”

“Like, go as a group?” Tony beamed. “Yeah, that would be awesome! I’ll get the limo again, it’ll be great.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Steve’s all but promised he’d go, an’ he said he liked your swanky ol’ limo. Which is good, because otherwise, I think he was gonna hop on that motorcycle of his and leave the state. Which, yeah, no, I don’t think he should do that. So… yeah. I mean, I was gonna ask you, if you hadn’t asked me. And then we can all look stupid while we dance in a group, an’ stuff. Well, maybe not Jim. Jim can dance, I’ve seen him. What about you-- do you dance?”

Tony laughed. “Not according to Rhodey. But I don’t mind making an idiot of myself, so that’s okay.”

“Don’t think that’s possible, dollface,” Bucky said, and it might have been an accident, but his hand was all the way up on Tony’s thigh, fingertips dangling precariously near the vee of his jeans. “But you know, just bein’ there with you, that’s… that’ll be perfect.”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed on a happy sigh. “Yeah, that’ll be perfect.”

“You are so-- tempting,” Bucky said, and moved his hand a safer distance down Tony’s thigh. “Want to, damn, boy, I want-- but I think th’ last thing we need is to get into an accident with my hand down your pants.”

Tony shivered a little. “Yeah, that seems a little advanced, first thing out the gate,” he agreed. “But the garage is, you know, pretty quiet and there’s no cameras inside, so...” He glanced at Bucky sideways.

“Nothing finer than a young man’s first car,” Bucky quoted, feeling his cheeks flush at the idea. “Excepting his first-- whatever do you suppose he might have meant by _that_?”

“First _ride_ ,” Tony finished, nodding sagely, in complete contradiction of the way his cheeks were flaming.

“You gonna take me for a ride, Mr. Stark?” Bucky wondered. “Whole new world, and all that?”

“I kinda like the sound of that,” Tony said. “Or, you know, the other way around. I’m not choosy.”

Bucky grinned at him, let his hand slide all the way up Tony’s thigh and brushed him with the side of his hand. Even through jeans, even as often as they’d had sex in Bucky’s old life, the feel of it made his skin tingle like he’d been burned, made his nerves zing like he’d been electricuted.

It had to be a damn hormones thing, Bucky decided, because the sound Tony made, a sweet squeak that ended in Tony pushing up against him, was the best thing he’d ever heard, and Bucky really wanted to find someplace to pull over and rock himself down right between Tony’s thighs.

“And you say I drive _you_ crazy,” Tony gasped, breathless. “God.”

Bucky put both hands on the wheel, resolutely not looking at Tony. "You do," Bucky assured him, voice practically stuttering in time to his ragged heartbeat. "S'like I can't think of anything but you. Not even _baseball_."

“Swing for the fences,” Tony suggested, giggling a little hysterically. “Think it’ll get any better when it’s not, you know, hanging over us like this?”

Bucky took a deep breath, raked a hand through his hair. "I mean, yeah. If adults went around crazy for each other the way I am for you, no one would ever get anything done. But… I literally cannot imagine a time where I.. where I don't want you. I could have two lifetimes with you--" _and I will_ "--and it still ain't gonna be enough. Choose you, every time."

Bucky laughed a little. "Okay that was _super_ cornball. You can laugh at me. It's okay."

Tony didn’t laugh. “Christ, you say the sweetest things. I didn’t think people really talked like that, but you... you make it sound real.”

"Well if the baseball thing doesn't work out," Bucky said, "maybe I'll try for acting on daytime television. You know, _Days of Our Lives_ shit. I'll just pretend everyone is you."

Tony laughed. “It’s good to know you’ve got a plan.” He watched a road sign as they passed it. “I’ve never wanted a road trip to be over so bad before.”

"Me, too, baby," Bucky said. "You were… uh. Gonna think about limits an' stuff, so we don't get too carried away in the heat of things."

Tony made a grumbling noise that was entirely too adorable. “That was _weeks_ ago,” he complained. “We’ve been restrained. What if I want it all?”

Bucky was being tempted, that's what this was. Some unholy plot against Tony's innocence and Bucky's good sense. "I…" He knew better, he _really_ did. Tony didn't have inhibitions, he never had. "Do you? Want it all?"

Bucky almost closed his eyes, nearly knocked over by thought, and he must have swerved or slowed down or something because there was a chorus of car horns.

“Shit!” Tony grabbed at the dash. “Okay, okay, no more sexy talk until we’re stopped, I guess.” He laughed shakily.

"Damn, there goes my diabolical plan to ask for road head," Bucky teased, about half not even kidding here. _Jesus_.

Tony made another of those fantastic sounds. “You are a _menace_ ,” he accused.

Hands on the wheel. Eyes on the road. It was a four hour drive. Bucky would live through it. Probably.

"Okay, okay. Enough dirty talk," Bucky promised. "Tell me something fun. I know you and Jim had detention last year, but no one would ever say why. Tell me about it."

“Oh, _geez_ ,” Tony said, slumping even further down in the seat in embarrassment. “Um, okay, so we were in physics class with Justin Hammer, and he was a total douche all year, like he is, you know? He was always trying to convince everyone that he knew more than everyone else. Rhodey and I might have... ‘borrowed’ his pen one morning before a unit test, while he was blabbing about how late he’d stayed up studying -- like, seriously, if you were such an amazing student, you wouldn’t _have_ to stay up all night studying? Anyway, we took his pen. And when he couldn’t find it, Rhodey offered him a spare.

“Which was a trick pen that we’d specially made. The bottom half was a perfectly normal pen, but in the middle was this sort of wax stopper that would melt from the heat of his hand, and when it gave way, there was this whole reservoir of ink that would spill out and get all over everything.” Tony sighed. “We misjudged, though. It was supposed to make a mess on his hand and maybe his clothes, but there was too much ink and it completely obliterated his test paper. And the desk. And a big spot on the floor. We got detention and had to stay after school and scrub the desk and the floor to get the ink stain out.”

"He totally deserved it," Bucky said. "Did he uh… ask you to prom? Someone told me he might."

“Oh, yeah.” Tony snorted. “Actually, he didn’t so much _ask_ as _tell_ me I was going to prom with him, the arrogant asshole. I’d have to like him a _lot_ better than I do for that to even have a chance to fly. I told him I had other plans, and he had the nerve to ask _what_ , like he couldn’t believe there could possibly be anything on my schedule that was worth missing spending a night with him. So I told him I was attending a seminar on how to make your beard grow in fuller. What a twit.” 

Bucky all but growled at the idea of Tony spending a night with Justin. "You want me to come be the concerned boyfriend?"

“Eh, I think it’ll be all right. I can handle Hammer. He’s just a dickweed. But I appreciate the offer.” He flashed Bucky a grin. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing your biceps on any occasion, of course.”

"He's a skeeze, but I won't threaten him, if you'd rather I didn't. Not that I wouldn't like to wring his neck for him. For that burn if nothing else. Careless." And for flirting with Tony. And thinking about Tony. Down boy, Bucky told his jealousy.

“No, don’t threaten him,” Tony said, sounding amused. “If someone overhears, you can get in trouble for that shit. They can suspend you from the team. That would really suck, when things are looking so great for you.”

“Might suck more, watchin’ Justin Hammer act like he owns you,” Bucky said. “Nah, it’s okay, I know. He’s just an asshole. And I get jealous, sometimes. Sorry.”

Tony reached over to pat Bucky’s thigh. “I’ll let you know if he ventures into territory that looks like he’s going to need a beating. I know I’m not supposed to admit this, but the jealousy thing looks kind of cute on you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about cute--” Bucky said, shifting his leg a little, Tony’s fingers left trails of heat against his skin. “I jus’... don’t want to lose you. Especially not to some wanker like Hammer. You shouldn’t encourage me.”

“Honey, the day I even _look_ at Hammer that way is the day you should have me committed for some kind of severe brain damage and/or personality disorder. Give me _some_ credit; if you lose me to someone else, it would at least be someone worth dating.” He leaned over and quickly kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Not that I’ve met anyone, ever, worth even half of you. Anyway, when you’re thinking about it you do this weird little murder-scowl and it shouldn’t be adorable but it kind of is.”

Now that, that sounded _familiar_. Tony had once described Bucky’s walk, when he was intent on reaching his goal, usually Tony, and generally to push him up against a wall somewhere and kiss him stupid, as a _murder-strut_. Tony had never said it was _cute_ , though.

“Adorable,” Bucky said, and he gave Tony another scowl. “Ain’t sure I like that word. Hot, maybe. Sexy, definitely. Adorable… makes me sound like a stuffed animal.”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ want me to cuddle with you?” Tony asked, all faux innocence.

“Those particular words, in that particular order, did not cross these lips,” Bucky said. “Although, you try to cuddle me any time in the nearish future, you’re gonna get a little more than you bargained for.”

“I like to live dangerously,” Tony said, all devil-may-care flippancy, but when Bucky glanced over at him, there was a flush spreading down his cheeks and he was watching Bucky with intent, hot eyes.

“Longest four hours of my life,” Bucky groaned, clutching the steering wheel. “Hope t’ Christ we don’t get traffic.”

“Aw, honey,” Tony sighed. “We’re driving into New York. Of _course_ there’s going to be traffic.”

There was.

By the time Bucky pulled into the bay at the Stark’s manor home, it was past six and Bucky couldn’t decide what was worse, his aching balls or his empty belly.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a warning on this chapter for Howard Stark's A+ parenting. If you need more details before reading, please don't hesitate to contact us.

Bucky pulled in, threw the car in park and undid his seatbelt. He waited about three microseconds for Tony to get his belt undone, and then he pushed the armrest up, crawled over the center console, and pinned Tony to the passenger seat, kissing him furiously while fiddling with the seat controls to make the back go down.

Tony laughed, but he was kissing Bucky back just as fervently, hands stroking down Bucky’s back and arms, clutching at Bucky’s shirt and hair. He wriggled his hips -- _Jesus_ \-- to settle them both more comfortably on the reclined seat and his breath came in fast, needy gasps as he chased after Bucky’s mouth with every hint of withdrawal.

“Yeah, that’s,” Bucky murmured, rutting against Tony’s thigh. There was no style to it, no technique, none of the slow build. It was all sloppy and careless, burning hot and out of control. “That’s good, baby, right--” Bucky got them lined up, rubbing against Tony, feeling the delicious friction on the edge of too much, and just perfect, and not quite enough all at the same time. 

“Oh _god_.” Tony’s hand fisted in Bucky’s hair, pulling, a bare edge of pain that made everything else spark and catch flame like dry tinder. Tony’s hips rolled, not a sensual seduction but a desperate drive. “Bucky, oh god, _Bucky_ \--”

Bucky got one knee down, braced on the edge of the seat, the dashboard flat against his ass, and he ran a hand down the front of Tony’s jeans, feeling the shape of him through the denim. “Here, can I-- open your fly, baby, let me--”

The car door flew open, nearly tumbling them both out onto the floor. “What in the _hell_ is going on here?” demanded Howard Stark. His eyes were sparking with rage -- and then he saw Bucky and all the blood drained from his face in the space of a breath, leaving him pale and shaking with fury. “Who the _fuck_ are you?” He reached in and grabbed Bucky’s shirt, hauling him out of the car.

“Dad,” Tony tried. “Dad, don’t--”

“You be quiet,” Howard snapped. “I’ll deal with you after I’ve gotten rid of this... This...” He couldn’t seem to come up with a word horrible enough to encompass Bucky.

Bucky couldn’t seem to catch his breath, his throat had narrowed to something about the size of a cocktail straw. Fury and fear raced together in his veins, and he shoved Howard. “Let go of me!” Howard wasn’t much taller than Tony, but a good deal blockier. He staggered back a step and then shoved, and Bucky went over, hitting the toolbox behind him and sending sparks of light starbursting behind his eyelids. Flares of agony jolted in his hip, his shoulder, and the back of his neck before he hit the floor and lay there, trying to remember what breathing felt like.

“How _dare_ you come into my house, _my house_ , and try to corrupt my son with this disgusting perversion. How _dare_ -”

“Dad, _stop_ , will you please, Bucky’s my _boyfriend_ , it’s--”

The crack of flesh on flesh sounded louder than anything else. “Not another word,” Howard snarled. “Not _one_. Go on, go inside, get out of my sight! You disgust me!”

“You son of a bitch,” Bucky gasped, rolling over. Jesus, _fuck_ , everything hurt, and he was pretty sure the wetness on his back was blood. Or motor oil, he couldn’t tell. “Don’t you touch him, that’s _your son_ \--”

He’d known, oh, he’d known how Howard was, Tony had told him. Not all at once, and never very much, because those were wounds that Tony liked to pretend didn’t exist. That Howard had been harsh and unfair, but--

Bucky managed to get to his feet, hissing softly in pain. “Tony, are you okay--”

Howard grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair and _yanked_. Bucky shrieked, and there were strands of his hair left in Howard’s fingers. “Don’t you talk to him, you filthy pervert. Get out!” He shoved Bucky toward the garage door. “Get out, and never talk to him again!”

It was beyond anger. Bucky almost felt himself swelling with it, adrenalin surging through his system. “I swear, I don’t understand what makes some men such shitty fathers,” Bucky said, drawing himself up straight. “How can you stand there and say things like that to him? What is _wrong_ with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me?_ ” Howard demanded. “What the fuck is wrong with _you_? Corrupting innocent kids with your filthy ways! Get the fuck out of my house before I call the police!”

Behind Howard, Tony was pale, eyes wide and frightened, and he was staring at Bucky beseechingly.

“I ain’t _corruptin’_ anyone,” Bucky snarled. “Tony an’ I are dating, we go to school together. I _care_ about him. Ain’t nothin’ foul about it. Nothin’ wrong with it. I’ll go, because it’s your house and he’s your kid, but I ain’t scared of you. And you can’t stop us from seein’ each other.”

He turned, as if ignoring Howard, but keeping watch in his peripheral vision, in case Howard did something stupid. “Tony, you want me t’ go?”

“I... I...” Tony’s eyes flicked from Bucky to Howard and back, over and over. “Go,” he whispered. “You should go. I’ll. I’ll be okay.”

Funny, how after all their years together, Bucky had finally discovered what Tony looked like when he was lying.

But what the hell else could he do? It didn’t matter that he had twenty extra years of life experience, he was still physically a kid, the cops were going to see a kid, and if Howard was feeling particularly homophobic, Bucky was eighteen, if only barely, and Tony... was quite a bit younger. “I’ll see you at school.”

He shouldered past Howard. “Don’t you touch him.”

Bucky got in his car, threw it in reverse. He couldn’t leave it here, god only knew what Howard might do to it. Waited a long moment in case Tony decided to run for it, although who knew what the hell kind of chaos that would cause.

_Please, Tony_ \-- He looked up, but Tony wasn’t looking back at him.

Bucky pulled out feeling lower than shit, like some back alley curr that was slinking away, tail between his legs.

***

Tony was not at school on Monday. Or Tuesday. He didn’t call. Bucky tried to call him a few times and was told that Tony couldn’t come to the phone by a stiffly severe Jarvis. By Wednesday, Bucky thought he was going to go mad with fear.

He called again, Thursday morning, sneaking out of class to use the payphone, hoping to God caller ID wouldn’t catch him out, and that maybe Howard would be at work. “Please, Mr. Jarvis, will you just tell me if he’s okay?”

Bucky blinked furiously, tears welling up behind his eyelashes and spilling over. He rubbed his cheek with the heel of his hand, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

“He’s been better,” Jarvis admitted. He was quiet for a moment, and then added, very softly, “I believe he may be back in school tomorrow, as the school officials are demanding a doctor’s note for further absence.”

“Oh, my god,” Bucky said, nearly falling, hitting his shoulder against the brick wall. “God, this is-- this is all my fault, please tell him I’m so sorry.” Bucky didn’t know if he wanted Jarvis to exonerate him, or what. He didn’t know how Jarvis could work for someone like that, Jarvis was a good man, had been a good man, and -- but if Jarvis left, Tony wouldn’t have _anyone_. He hung up before Jarvis could say anything irreversible.

Bucky took a few shattering breaths. He didn’t know how he was going to face teachers, other students. Fucking Rumlow. He felt rage burning in his fists and he knew if he saw Rumlow right then, he’d do something stupid.

“Fuck it,” he said, “I’m ditching the rest of the day.”

And for once, he wasn’t surprised when Natasha spoke up behind him. “That is good. Take me with you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve said.

“How th’ _fuck_ did you two know I was out here?” Bucky demanded, but it didn’t matter. He was among friends, and he scowled, trying to breathe around the fear, but he couldn’t, and the tears spilled over.

Natasha gave him an unimpressed glare, even as she pulled him into her arms. “Were you able to reach him at all?”

“No,” Bucky said. “I mean, Jarvis-- the butler… said he’d probably be back tomorrow. Because the school wants a _doctor’s note_.” Bucky’s voice spiraled up into hysterics. “That bastard, he hurt Tony, I know he did.”

“It is very likely,” Natasha said gently, petting his back. “But our Tony, he is not so easily broken. You will see.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have to be hard,” Bucky said. “He’s a _kid_ , we’re all kids, and Tony shouldn’t have to be afraid of his _goddamn father_. And I left him there! I left him.”

“You didn’t have any other choice, Buck,” Steve said, his hand falling on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing. “What else could you have done? Punched Stark, like he damn well deserves -- and then been completely buried in his lawyers? Brought Tony with you when you left -- and be accused of kidnapping or worse? No choices.”

Bucky shook his head. “He needed me and I left him,” he repeated. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of this place. I need a cigarette.”

Bucky didn’t smoke often, or regularly. It made it harder to run, and wasn’t good for playing, but he’d picked up the habit a few years back when he found a very stale pack of his father’s smokes, which had apparently fallen behind the sofa, and he had smoked them on the fire escape in a fit of teenage rebellion. 

Since then, it was only a few times -- Steve didn’t like it, and one of the guys that Bucky had kissed was a smoker, and that was _gross_.

But sometimes he really needed a chemical chill.

They drove out to the nearest bodega and Bucky bought a pack of smokes, showing ID like it was some sort of normal transaction.

Growing up, Bucky thought.

Again.

Why was it so damn hard?

He’d assumed, like everyone assumed, that if he could go back to high school, he’d do things differently, and it would be different. Better. Easier.

It wasn’t.

And it fucking sucked.

He tore the cellophane off the pack and swiped a book of matches from the bodega’s bowl, lighting up as soon as he was outside the shop. Steve scowled, but didn’t say anything, and they went to find a convenient alley mouth to hang out in and look like hoodlums.

He offered the pack to Natasha, and was surprised when she took one, lighting it with expert hands and drawing deep off the cherry.

“What’re we gonna do?” Steve wondered, shuffling around until he was upwind of the smoking.

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do,” Bucky said, morosely. “Child abuse is hard t’ prove, an’ Mr. Stark, he’s really rich. I don’t think it would take a lot for him to bury it, and if Tony won’t testify against him -- which would be stupid of him to do -- then… I mean, there’s no extraction plan. We can’t get him out an’ get him safe, then the best thing to do is not give Howard another damn reason to hit him.”

Which would probably mean that Bucky and Tony needed to break up.

That should not have hurt as much as it did. The idea of not seeing Tony-- not being near him. He choked on a sob, trying not to cry again. Bad enough his friends had seen him doing it once.

Natasha put a hand on his shoulder. “Graduation is soon,” she said. “When Tony moves to Cambridge, he will not be so closely watched. If you can both wait, a few months...” She sighed. “I can get close to Tony without drawing Mr. Stark’s suspicions. I will require tutoring, which will bring me to his house often, yes? I can be your spy.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, gratefully. “Jus’... _something_. I can’t stand this.” The distance, emotional and actual, yanked at him, tormented him. Tony had never seemed quite so far away, even when, sometimes, he was in another country. Bucky rubbed at his hand with the opposite fingers. Howard was like some evil fairy tale villain, everything he touched turned to shit. “I’m scared for Tony.”

“We all are,” Steve said. “Best thing we can do now is just... help him hold on until he has a chance to escape.”

Bucky finished one smoke, and lit a second off the dying ember. “If he’s not back at school tomorrow,” he started, not knowing how to finish it. He was going to do something stupid. It did seem to be what he was good at.

“We will figure something out,” Natasha said. “Together.”

***

Bucky heard the news about halfway through first bell the next day. One of the girls in his class passed him a note folded up into a football that said, “Just thought you should know, someone punched your boyfriend. Tell me it wasn’t you.”

Bucky blinked at the note, looked up. Maya Hansen was staring daggers at him, her lips pressed into a flat line. 

Bucky let his eyes go wide and shook his head. Jesus, on top of worrying about Tony, apparently Bucky needed to listen to gossip. 

He was out of his chair before the bell even finished ringing, headed down to the labs. “Bruce, where is he?” Bucky barely caught himself on the door before he plowed into Tony’s lab partner. There was no coffee brewing, which was not a good sign.

Bruce looked grim, like he was barely holding onto his own temper by a thread. He sized Bucky up, then jerked his head toward the storeroom. “Taking inventory for Dr. McCoy.” 

Bucky almost protested. He hadn’t done this, wouldn’t have hurt Tony, but he didn’t have too much time to worry about his damaged reputation. “Thanks,” he said, and delicately removed Bruce’s hand from his wrist. He wanted to ask if Tony was mad at him; the cowardly part of him still insisted that it was his fault, even if he’d never laid a hand on Tony, but if Tony was mad, Tony deserved the honor of being able to say so.

A quick, soft tap at the door to the storage closet, and Bucky called out softly, “Hey, Tony, you in here, it’s me.”

The door was heavy and the response too muffled to understand, but it didn’t sound like “Go away.”

It took Bucky a few minutes to find him; the room wasn’t that big, but it was heavily utilized and the stacks of boxes went all the way from the floor to the ceiling. He finally found Tony hunched over, looking through a bin and counting, a pencil between his teeth and a clipboard on the floor next to him. “Tony?”

Tony’s head snapped up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, his eyes growing wide -- well, one eye. The other was nearly swollen shut, livid bruises stretching up his cheek toward his hairline. “Bucky.” Before Bucky could even answer, Tony was in Bucky’s arms, hugging so tight that Bucky could barely breathe.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky said, not even caring that his voice cracked. He couldn’t hold on hard enough, kissing Tony’s hair. “I’m so sorry, that son of a bitch--”

“It’ll be okay,” Tony whispered, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin, turned to avoid putting pressure on his injured eye. “I was so afraid that he’d scared you off.”

“No, baby, I ain’t scared of him,” Bucky said, which was a lie, it was a damned lie, but-- “I’d rather he hit me than do this to you. God, I’m so sorry, can you-- I left you there. I’m so sorry.”

Tony shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry, you did the best thing. I wanted to call you, but I’m on, like, supermax lockdown. No phone, no going out, not even in the yard, except for school. No workshop, either.” He shuddered. “Prom may be out.”

“Did Mr. Jarvis tell you-- I called every day, baby,” Bucky said, running his fingers through Tony’s hair. The second bell rang, and Bucky ignored it. He wasn’t going any _where_.

“Yeah.” Tony sniffled a little. “He said, he said to tell you he’s sorry, he didn’t know Dad was going to be home or he’d have said something. And every time the phone rang, Dad was _right there_.”

“Uh, Natasha had an idea,” Bucky said, then winced as the tardy bell rang. Didn’t matter, he’d go bother Coach for a bit and get him to write up a slip. As far as Coach was concerned, Bucky could do no wrong at the moment. They were in the playoffs. And All-Star would be posting soon, if it wasn’t already.

Strange how unimportant all that seemed, right now. “She thought maybe you could tutor her.”

Tony pulled back, just enough to tip his head up to look at Bucky. “Natasha is a straight-A student.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Which would give you plenty of time to talk about other things. An’ for someone to be… over there. Honey, I don’t want to give him a chance to do this again, an’ Howard ain’t gonna complain about a pretty gal being in your room, is he?”

Tony paused, considering it. “Probably not,” he allowed. He bit his lip. “I’m supposed to be eating lunch in the nurse’s office for a while,” he said. “Tell Nat she should have a stomach ache or some bad cramps or something so we can work it out.”

God, no lunch, either? “Bastard,” Bucky said, again. “I can’t believe-- how… Tony, how bad are you hurt, honey? Did he even let you see a doctor? Has-- has this happened before?” Bucky wanted to scream with frustration, and he had a bleak, black moment where he was pretty sure he’d _voluntarily_ give up his arm, to get Howard out of Tony’s life.

Tony shrugged, looking away. “Some. This’s the worst of it.” He waved at his face. “My shoulder’s a little sore where he kind of wrenched it, but it’s mostly better already.”

“Tony,” Bucky said, very gently. “You know you don’t deserve this, right? That-- that there’s somethin’ deeply, deeply wrong with him. It ain’t you, babydoll.”

“Just have to be more careful,” Tony said, not quite acknowledging Bucky’s words, but he was shaking, just a little, as he pressed harder into Bucky’s chest. “He’ll calm down eventually.”

“I don’t wanna give him an excuse t’ hurt you again,” Bucky said, “but-- I mean, we’ll figure something out, right? It can’t go on like this, not forever. You’re goin’ off to school next September, an’ I can… I’ll wait for you, Tony, is what I mean to say. Long as it takes.”

Tony’s breath caught and hitched. “Really?” It came out very, very small and quiet.

“Tony-- ain’t you already know that? You’re… you’re my whole world,” Bucky said. “An’ I would do anything to be with you, protect you, take care of you. I ain’t… I’m not going to let this keep us apart, okay? S’long as you want me to be here, I’m here. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tony sniffled, and then hiccuped. “Once he cools down a little, I’m going to try to get him to agree to send me up to Cambridge during the summer. So I can start networking and stuff. If you’re, you know, not too busy with training and stuff, you could maybe come up and visit?”

“Every time I have the day off, I don’t care where I am, if I’m in fuckin’ San Diego, I’ll come see you,” Bucky swore. “An’ I’ll call, like all the time. Keep the phone company in business.”

Tony laughed. It was a little watery, but it was good to hear, just the same. “Yeah. We’ll. We’ll work it out, somehow.”

“What-- what are you telling people that happened?” Bucky wondered. “I got two people askin’ me if I did this to you, an’ I’m sure Howard don’t want you spreading it about that he’s a goddamn child abuser.”

“Car accident,” Tony said, sounding exhausted and disgusted and ashamed. “Took his Maserati out without permission and wrapped it around a tree. Lucky I didn’t get killed, blah blah.”

Bucky literally felt all the blood drain out of his face. He glanced down, almost convinced he’d see it pooling around his sneakers. “Car-- car accident? Holy fuck, baby.” Car accident. Bucky’s whole life had changed because of a car accident, and now Howard was using it as an excuse, and that Tony had done it to himself?

“Yeah, well, _walked into a door_ doesn’t really cover it, these days.” Tony had put on that nonchalant tone he used when he was working particularly hard at protecting himself.

“I guess not,” Bucky said, “but really, anyone that’s been in a car accident-- a black eye ain’t usually the problem.” He thumbed Tony’s chin. “I gotta go-- they’re posting All-Star today an’ I’ll get coach to give me a tardy slip, but-- I’ll give Nat something for you, a note, or something. Okay? You’ll be okay?”

Tony nodded, but clung to Bucky even tighter for a moment before letting go and taking half a step back. “I’ll be okay. Dr. McCoy is letting me do inventory all next week for my participation grade because my vision is a little blurry and it’s hard to read the instruments.” He managed a small smile. “I think he just wants to give me somewhere quiet to go until the bruises fade.”

_So that the school could have plausible deniability as to why they didn’t get involved, you mean,_ Bucky thought, but didn’t say. “Okay. Hang on ‘til lunch. An’ maybe I can catch you after class, walk you to the doors?”

Tony’s smile widened. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He hesitated a second, then leaned up to brush a soft kiss over Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky didn’t want to go, reluctance in every line in Tony’s face as well, but he really did not need to get in trouble with school officials, not right now.

He dashed down to the gym, ignoring Mrs. Carter’s cry of “no running in the halls!” to lean in Coach’s office. He made the All Star team, Bucky noted, almost in passing. Because of course he did. Nothing changed on that front. At least this year, he’d be able to go. Probably. Hopefully.

“Hey,” Bucky said, as cool as possible. “I was wondering if you might have any tactics for me, for the all-star game.”

Coach was, of course, happy to talk about it. He launched into a lecture that he’d obviously been preparing all semester, and was well into it when he paused, blinked, and said, “Shouldn’t you be in class right now?”

“It’s just French,” Bucky said. “My French is perfect. Mssr. Dernier won’t mind. You can give me a note, yeah?”

“Yes, of course,” Coach said, and jumped right back into his spiel, which was mostly a rundown on the other players’ strengths and weaknesses on the field, and which might have been somewhat useful if Bucky had failed to pay attention whatsoever during the season’s games. Finally, he wound down and scrawled out a note for Bucky to take to his class. “Come on by any time, Barnes, we’ll pull it apart.” 

“Will do,” Bucky promised. “I’ll make you proud out there, you’ll see.”

Coach beamed and Bucky was actually almost late to third bell, but that was okay. He saw Natasha briefly in the hall and caught her elbow. “You’re going to feel terrible at lunch. Go see the nurse for a Midol and a hot pack or something.”

She glanced at him curiously. “Tony?”

“He’s supposed to take lunch at the nurses’ office,” Bucky said. “He’s… he’s a mess. Bein’ brave, but… yeah, it’s no good. Go have lunch with him, and then meet me after practice and tell me everything he said.”

She nodded. “Very well. You will explain this to Steve, so he does not worry.”

“I’ll tell Steve you an’ Tony ran off to Tahiti together. I hear it’s a magical place,” Bucky said, and laughed as she smacked at him with her folder.

He passed the note to Steve, dutifully, during Chem. _Tonys here. N. gonna play sick to spend lunch w/ him. Didnt want u to worry._

The rest of the day dragged. He ended up sitting by himself at lunch and doing his French homework, because his usual tablemates were all in the nurses’ office. A few people stared at him, and at least one girl told him, tearfully, that she’d expected better of him than to treat someone like he’d done to Tony.

Bucky was so flummoxed that he just stared at her as she ran off. He didn’t even know who she was. Jesus, the rumors around here.

Just before the lunch bell rang, Natasha dashed back into the cafeteria and slumped down next to Bucky. “It is arranged,” she murmured. “He has my number; if his parents will allow it, I will go over after school for tutoring, starting next week.” She patted Bucky’s arm and -- so deftly he nearly missed it -- slipped a folded note into his shirt pocket.

“This is so crazy,” Bucky murmured. _Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it._ “Like the monkey’s paw thing. I swear, I didn’t want this to happen, not like this.”

“I know,” she said solemnly. “You will both get through this.”

Bucky nodded, and then headed off for class again, as the bell rang. He unfolded the note from Tony and spread it out between the pages of his notebook, glancing at the flat, neat handwriting in between his English teacher’s commentary about the book they were studying. What was it about English class that everything was the same book, over and over. _War is hell, but we keep doing it anyway_ , an American Novel by prize-winning author I Have Daddy Issues.

_First day back and of course we get a pop quiz in Gov’t, so I don’t have much time. Have to keep this short, but I’ll write a longer one over the weekend, promise. Just want to say I’m okay, really, and I’m not going to let him keep us apart._

_I was thinking, I might be able to convince my mom to talk him around on prom if I have a girl for a date. Maybe someone like Hope who Dad thinks will be a good business connection? I know you don’t like Hope but she’s really cool actually and I totally think she’d help us out. I don’t know, think about it._

_I want to talk to you so bad. It’s only been forty-five minutes but I miss you._

_Kick ass and take names at practice today, don’t worry about me so much that you let Rumlow get one over on you._

He hadn’t signed it, but he’d drawn a big heart at the bottom and written “T + B” in it.

Bucky chewed on the end of his pen, then flipped a few sheets forward in his notebook.

_I miss you, too._

_Never thought I’d say this, but practice can suck it. You mean more to me than baseball. That said, can’t spend it with you anyway, so I may as well._

_Good news, I made All-Stars. Bad news, so did Rumlow. They’re having a special pep rally for us both next Friday. I guess you won’t be able to go to the game. That sucks. But maybe we can sit together at the rally. A whole class period._

_We have pictures tomorrow, after school, for the newspaper. I’ll be in my uniform, & you can cut it out of the paper, if you want._

_Gotta run._

_XOXO_

_Bucky_

He didn’t see anyone he could pass his note to who could get it to Tony, so he settled for tucking it into Tony’s biochem textbook on their way out of the school. “Jarvis won’t squeal on you if you’re a few minutes late coming out, will he?”

“Nah, but Dad’ll be waiting, I bet, so we can’t hold up any longer than traffic can account for,” Tony said. His hand was holding Bucky’s tightly, he was walking so close that Bucky’d had to match his stride or bump awkwardly into him every other step.

“God, he’s such a prick,” Bucky muttered. “You don’t have any afterschools that you can stay for?” He checked both ways down the hall and then tugged Tony down toward the gym. “Coach’ll be at the locker room, gettin’ ready for practice. C’mere a minute?”

Tony followed readily, but shook his head. “It’s part of the lockdown,” he admitted. “No clubs. And I can’t exactly claim I need help on my classes.”

“I swear t’ Christ, I hate that man,” Bucky muttered. The back hall was deserted, everyone either at the busses or headed to their cars. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t want to hurt your face, sweetheart. It looks tender.” Bucky didn’t even want to know how bad Tony’s face had looked Sunday night. “Here, gimme your hand.”

He pressed a kiss into Tony’s palm, and then folded his fingers down over it. “Hold on to that, an’ don’t lose it.”

Tony squeezed his hand tight. “I’ve got it,” he promised. “Hold still.” He kissed Bucky carefully. “There. That’ll have to get you through the weekend.” He looked sad.

“Tony-- be careful, okay? Everything in my whole life is right here in my hands, an’, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“I’ll be good,” Tony said. “For you, not for him.” He reached up, brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “I... I’d better go.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and he reluctantly let Tony go. “Don’t be good for me, be _bad_ for me. Just don’t get caught.”

Tony smirked with one side of his mouth. “Rather be bad _with_ you.”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky said, touching Tony’s face. “When you’re with me, it’s gonna be _good_.”

And, that seemed like a good line to go out on. It wasn’t often that he got a verbal one up on Tony.


	18. Chapter 18

All things considered, the last thing Bucky really wanted to do was sit with Tony and Hope at the All-Star pep rally, but it looked like that was what was going to happen, because Tony had started the campaign at home for prom, provided he went with Hope.

Hope and Tony were mashed behind him, because at some point during the rally, Principal Fury was going to call both Rumlow and Bucky up to get their trophy, and stand up for everyone to yell, and other bullshit stuff. The first time Bucky had done this, he’d eaten it up, been high on praise for weeks, just watching the whole school turn out and cheer for him.

Now, he was more aware of Tony’s presence behind him, his hand on Tony’s ankle, and Hope with her sensible skirt and ridiculous shoes sitting next to Tony.

And the fact that they were all sitting next to _Rumlow_ while trying to plot.

The cheerleaders were doing something, getting the different grades to try to yell louder than each other or somesuch bullshit. Tony had his foot propped on the bench Bucky was sitting on, pressed against Bucky’s thigh, and every time the seniors were called on to cheer, Tony pressed a little harder against Bucky. It was better than nothing, but it wasn’t a squeeze of a hand in Bucky’s, a bright smile only for him.

“So, what’s the deal, then?” Bucky said, leaning back on the bench, putting his elbows on the seat behind him and, not coincidentally, making Hope and Tony scoot apart to accommodate him. “I don’t get what-- you get out of this.”

He didn’t hate Hope. It would be easier if he hated Hope. But knowing that she’d touched Tony, kissed him, when Bucky was wooing Tony, and that she was the sort of date that Howard approved of. Well, it didn’t lend to Bucky feeling sanguine.

“I get to piss off my dad,” Hope said easily. “I love him, but he’s _so_ overprotective. But he _hates_ the Starks -- sorry, Tony, but it’s true. If I go to prom with Tony, if Dad thinks I’m actually _serious_ about Tony? He might actually back down about letting me go out with the guy I _want_ to go out with.”

“What is with you upperclass kids and your dads being in your face about who you’re dating? Is that like on the checklist? Buy an expensive car, pretend to know something about wine, and fuss about who your kid wants to neck with?”

“It’s all about estate management,” Tony said drily. His face had healed, though he still winced away from bright lights a little. “Can’t have the heirs bringing someone into the family who isn’t _worthy_. Or who doesn’t know how to handle their investments.”

Hope nodded. “Never mind that we’re in _high school_ , like, I know marrying your high school sweetheart makes for a great story, but how many people actually do that?”

“Well, I mean, some people must, or it wouldn’t be a good story,” Bucky pointed out. He looped his hand around Tony’s ankle again, feeling that warm skin. “Too bad you’re not a lesbian. We could do the whole cross-dating thing and keep your families happy. My Ma, she don’t care, so long as I’m happy. And, you know, that my date is of _good moral character_.”

Hope hummed. “I don’t know, Scott might be willing to pose as your date. I mean, you’re pretty much out to the school now, right? And he doesn’t go to this school, so he doesn’t care what anyone here says about him.”

“Yeah, th’ whole school knows about me,” Bucky said. “Or, if they don’t, they seriously are not paying attention.”

Rumlow made a point to slide over on the seat some, as if wanting to be certain that no one thought he was sitting next to Bucky because he was interested. Honestly, if the guy was any more of a stereotypical self-hating gay in the closet, Bucky would put money on the man coming out in a few years once he was away from all the bullshit drama.

Not, really, that Bucky had any idea. Of the many people he’d lost touch with after school, Brock Rumlow was not one of the ones he’d tried to look up. 

“I’ll ask Scott if he’d be willing,” Hope said, “if you’d be okay with it? I mean, there’s no way he’d get into our prom without a date, so...”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I ain’t buyin’ him flowers, or anything. And I don’t own a tux, so I’m just going in my church pants and a jacket. Anything to keep everyone happy, an’ keep Howard from finding out.” 

“I will buy you flowers,” Tony said. “Both of you. Hope, you’re a lifesaver, really.”

“Ack,” Bucky said as Rumlow kicked him. Shit, had he missed their cue? He had, and Bucky scrambled up to stand next to Rumlow on the little stage. The school went wild, and Bucky found himself staring, not at the crowd, or even at Tony, but at Rumlow, who had this desperately vindicated joy painted across his ruggedly handsome features.

Strange how he rarely noticed how good looking Rumlow was; the guy was such a dick, usually that marred any sort of appeal.

Fury said a few words about them, introducing them to their classmates and praising not only their athletic ability but their academic achievements.

Bucky rolled his eyes, tipping a small, private grin just for Tony.

Tony grinned back, rolling his own eyes, and then winked.

Next to Tony, Hope gave him a thumbs-up. Several seats higher in the bleachers, Steve and Natasha were stamping their feet and yelling.

Finally, Fury let them go sit down again, and Bucky was going to say something to Rumlow, offer a truce or a peace treaty, or even just a ceasefire, but--

Later, he was never sure if Rumlow had tripped him, or just gave him a shove as he started to fall, but Bucky staggered forward, tipped off the stage, and ended up on the floor on his hands and knees, looking up at Rumlow in a truly uncomfortable moment. Bucky scrambled up, ignoring his stinging palms and the shocked laughter from most of the school. His neck was burning with embarrassment.

He got to his seat and tried really, really hard to disappear.

Tony leaned forward, one hand on Bucky’s neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just bruised my pride,” Bucky said. He sighed, and since that was the last of the stand up and be recognized things Fury had on his plan, “slide over.” And he pushed up to sit between Tony and Hope for the rest of the rally.

Tony wriggled as close as he could get, one arm sneaking around Bucky’s back, and sighed. “This sucks so much,” he grumbled. “I wish I could just... leave.”

“Not too much longer,” Bucky said, “an’ then we’ll be graduated. Everything will change, once you’re an adult.”

Not that his life had changed all that much in the last month, but he also wasn’t trying to move out. Yet. Maybe he and Steve could get a little place after school, somewhere with actual bedrooms and doors, and--

Bucky knew his face was burning again, even worse than it had been when he fell, and he turned his face to hide it against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony’s fingers scritched along Bucky’s back. “What’re you thinking about, there?” he murmured, amused.

“You know that old Beach Boys song, _Wouldn’t it be Nice?_ That. That’s what I was thinking about.”

Tony hummed. “It _would_ be nice, wouldn’t it?” He leaned into Bucky for a moment. 

“Yeah, we’ll, you know. Do that. Spend the whole night together,” Bucky promised. 

Finally, finally, Fury let the pep rally go, dismissed everyone back to class, and Bucky tugged Tony under the bleachers when they hopped down, a dark, quiet place where no one was looking. It was, of course, filthy under there. But it was private. 

“Hey there,” Bucky said.

“Hi, yourself.” Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaned into him. “God, I miss you so much.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, tipping Tony’s chin up, and kissing him, short and sweet. “Got a sharpie on you?”

“Uh?” Tony blinked at him in confusion, then pulled open his backpack and found a marker. “What for?”

Bucky bit the cap, holding it in his teeth, and found a relatively unmarked section of the bottom of the bleachers. _JBB loves AES_ , he wrote, and then drew a heart around it.

Tony’s breath caught. “Bucky...” He caught Bucky’s face in his palms and kissed him, searing and desperate. “I love you too, you know.”

Bucky hitched in a breath. “You do?” He was trembling. “I didn’t know.” 

_I have this,_ Bucky thought, fiercely. _I have this right now, and I’m damned if I’m letting it go a second time._

“Of course I do! Bucky, you’re--!” Tony flailed an arm. “You’re smart and kind and funny and hot and you, you _protect_ people, like, not even just me but _everyone_ and you _care_ about things and you’re just... Of _course_ I love you!”

Bucky ran his thumb over the place he’d written their initials. “Well, now you know it, and I know it, and it’s right here, for the rest of the world to know it. Bucky loves Tony.” He swooped in for another quick kiss. “Come on, if we’re both late again, we’ll get skint, and I don’t want your dad wondering why you’re gettin’ _detention_.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “Soon,” he said, a promise to them both. “Soon.”

***

“What’s this?” Bucky looked down at the shiny black card with a silver swoosh on it. His name was emblazoned on the front in raised silver letters, and the logo in the corner said Visa Award.

“It’s a prepaid Visa,” Natasha said, as if this was obvious. “You and Steven and Scott Lang will be going to rent tuxedos this afternoon, immediately after school.”

Bucky gave her a flat look. “Where did this come from?”

She smiled beatifically. “Me. I refuse to be seen with you if you are not appropriately dressed, and so you will rent a tuxedo, and look beautiful.”

“Nat--” Bucky started to whine. He hated taking charity, hated being indebted, even to people he liked. Sometimes, especially to people he liked. On the other hand, he didn’t want to look shabby next to Tony, either. “I-- Okay, okay, I-- I will absolutely pay you back. Every penny. Deal?”

“When you get your signing bonus with the major leagues,” she agreed.

“I adore you,” Bucky told her. “How-- how were we not friends, before this? I mean, aside from the fact that I was scared of you and didn’t want to admit it.”

“Also, you were a little bit of a jerk,” Natasha said. “Not to Rumlow’s level. But arrogant. A little too certain of yourself.”

“I thought I was invincible,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “I thought bein’ poor was the worst shit that could happen, and I could handle it, and so-- I didn’t know. I’m not scared of you, anymore. I mean, I still would rather you not be mad at me, but that’s because I respect you, and I like you, and I want you to be happy. But I ain’t _scared_.”

She beamed at him, the true, happy smile that she rarely showed anyone, and reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad,” she said. “The people who think I am scary are the ones who cannot see past the surface of things.”

“Guess I’m going tuxedo shopping,” Bucky said. “Did Tony tell you what color tie and cummerbund he’s picking out?”

“Red,” Natasha said, “with gold accents. Hope’s dress,” she added, as if they were idly gossiping about their classmates’ prom choices, “is silver with red accents.”

Bucky eyed her. “And your dress will be black, with red.” Because he remembered that dress, even though he and Natasha had not really been friends. He remembered her, like the red queen, going to prom by herself, and still being the prom queen. Huh. He wondered if that meant something different was going to happen, because Rumlow had been Prom King that year. Maybe he should--

“Uh. I have a future thing, that I might want to tell you about,” he said.

She raised her eyebrow at him. “Might you?”

“Well, it seems like somethin’ you ought to know,” Bucky apologized. “You’re, uh. In my old life, you were the prom queen. But you went to prom stag. And, uh, the voting paired you up with the most popular guy at school.” Bucky looked around and pointed. “Rumlow.”

Natasha followed Bucky’s finger, then burst out laughing. “How well did that go over?” she wondered.

“I don’t think you broke his foot in the traditional first dance, but it wasn’t for lack of tryin’,” Bucky said. “I don’t think-- I think that would go over _very badly_ , with Steve as your date.”

“Yes, I expect so,” she agreed, but she didn’t seem terribly concerned about it. “It will be fine.”

“You’d know better’n me, I suppose,” Bucky said dubiously. “An’ much as I don’t like him, don’t break anything. We still need him for the game.”

“I will not harm him,” Natasha said breezily. “Physically.”

“A’ight, then,” Bucky said. “A little psychological damage never hurt anyone.” There was something wrong with that, but Bucky didn’t bother to figure out what it was.

So, with the shiny new gift card in his hand, Bucky drove Steve out to the specific tuxedo shop where Natasha directed them to go.

Where he met Scott Lang for the first time in his life. Either of them.

“Oh, look, it’s Bucky Barnes,” Scott said, grabbing his hand and shaking it up and down several times. “This is my date to the prom, did I mention that, Luis? This is Luis, he’s my moral support because I was told that Tony Stark might be here, and he has no morals to speak of.”

“Tony’s coming?” Steve asked. “I didn’t know that.”

Bucky shrugged. It was news to him. “I don’t think so. You must be Lang.”

“Yeah, it’s so nice to meet you,” Lang said, “because anyone who can pull off the shit you’re pulling, you’ve got my respect, and wow, I’m just in awe, and I’m shaking your hand too long. It’s getting weird, right?”

“Little weird,” Steve agreed, grinning. He offered his own hand. “Steve Rogers.”

“Mad respect for you, man,” Scott said. “You’re dating Natasha Romanoff. Even in my school, she’s famous.”

Luis didn’t offer to shake Bucky’s hand, but he threw an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him toward the display mannequins. “So tell me what you’re thinking in terms of style, here, because let me tell you I was dating this chick a year or two ago, like, _super_ high maintenance but totally worth it, right, because her _legs_ and then her _ass_ and her, like, _everything_ , but she was like all into fashion and stuff and you can pick up a lot just from listening to someone else talk even when you’re not that interested but you know after a while it actually kind of got me hooked, and I gotta say, you would totally rock a narrow lapel but there’s some people who will tell you that’s _so_ last year, but you gotta be you, right, man?” 

“I’m thinking I want to look good next to Tony Stark, but that might not be possible.”

“Man, you can’t be thinking like that,” Luis said. “That’s no way to manage a relationship. You gotta think, man, this person _chose me_ , out of all the people they could’ve picked, it was _me_. And, you know, Tony Stark, he’s a pretty smart guy, people say, so he must’ve had some good reasons for picking you, right?”

“It’s because of the murder-strut. Hmmm. There’s an idea. I need a tux that will show off my thighs. You know, something not quite… slack.”

“Yes!” Luis said, looking excited. “I’ve got you, man, I’ve got you. Now what we want...” and he rambled on about this or that designer, names that Bucky didn’t recognize even after two decades of living with Tony Stark. Short-lived fame, maybe, or not _quite_ good enough to reach into the upper echelons of society. On the far side of the shop, Scott and Steve were flipping through a catalog, stopping to mock particularly horrible options occasionally, and jotting down numbers of the ones they liked.

Bucky flipped through a few of the vests, ties, and cummerbunds. Red and gold, Bucky could see the colors, because they were Tony’s favorites. What the press had sometimes called his signature colors. “This is-- colorful,” Bucky said, tugging out a rich red paisley vest with black swirls and loops.

“Style!” Luis pronounced. “C’mere, I think these are the pants you’re going to want.”

Bucky grinned, tucking the pants over his arm. Of course, everything would be tailored for the event, and then returned in so-called good condition. He selected a black shirt and a matching two-button jacket with a pocket hanky. “Let me try all this on, see how it goes?”

“Go for it, man,” Luis said. “We’ve got your back.” He wandered over to offer his opinion on whatever Scott and Steve were looking at.

The outfit wasn’t quite top tier; Bucky had worn a lot of tuxedos in his life -- being Tony’s Stark’s husband had gotten him invitations to some of the swankier gatherings in the world. This still looked like high school, and a high school budget.

But even considering that, he looked… sharp. And would look even better with the waist nipped in a bit to emphasize his shoulders, and the pants brought in a little.

He came out to look in the three way mirror, trying to get the effect of the murder-strut, which was harder to do when he was thinking about it, but--

“Oh, swoon, catch me, Steve, I’m going to faint,” Scott said. “That’s my date to prom, all you bitches better back off.”

Steve had stepped back half a step and was looking Bucky up and down with the particular squint that Bucky had long since learned to recognize as his artist’s eye, putting the shapes and colors together in some way Bucky had never quite been able to fathom. “Good choices,” he said after a minute. “You’re going to have them take in the waist a little?”

“That’s the plan,” Bucky said. He tugged on the sides of the pants to pull them taut over his thighs. “Something like this--”

Luis let out a loud, approving whistle. “Damn, that almost makes me wish I were gay, like, seriously fine legs there, man.” He nudged Scott. “Right? Right?”

“Yeah, I see that,” Scott agreed.

“Sorry, boys,” Bucky said, grinning. “Even if _you_ were gay, _I_ am not single. And you are ridiculous.”

Scott shrugged. “Defense mechanisms. I spent a few months in juvie, you get weird, or you get in a lot of trouble, or you get in a lot of fights. It’s your choice.”

“Yeah?” Steve looked interested. He’d never _quite_ crossed that line, but he’d been threatened with it a few times, for getting into fights over things that other people thought weren’t all that important. “What for?”

Scott held up his hands. “Hey, juvie records are closed. All you need to know is, I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

“I don’t care what you did,” Bucky said. “You’re going to prom with me so that I can actually be with my boyfriend. That makes you the good guy.” Bucky folded up a cute gold and red pocket square and tucked it into his pocket, ignoring the way Luis was commenting on the different ways to do the folds.

“Hey, you hear that, Luis?” Scott said. “I’m the good guy!”

“I knew that, man!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning. He grabbed a tie that went with the vest, and took the whole mess back to the tailor. “I’m going to want the waist brought in, tucks in the back of the coat to match, and tighten up the legs a bit. And hemmed, of course.”

“Of course, sir.” The tailor jotted some notes on a pad of paper and gestured toward a curtained-off area at the back of the store. “I’ll need to take your measurements.”

There was a little platform behind the curtain so the tailor didn’t have to bend over as far to check Bucky’s inseam. He’d been measured dozens of times, as Tony’s husband, so he stood still and let the man get on with it, though the teenager he’d been would have been squirming at the intimacy of the task. The tailor took his notes on the little pad, and just as he finished, tugged a page out from the back of the pad. “This is for your records, sir. Keep it safe.”

It didn’t look like the same paper that was on the pad. It was already folded into neat quarters, too. 

When Bucky unfolded it, it was a flyer from the school about an after-school SAT prep session. At the bottom, in handwriting that made Bucky’s stomach swoop, was written, “Couldn’t hurt to check it out, right?” A little heart was drawn just below that.

Bucky brought the flier up to his mouth, pressed his lips to that tiny heart, and then folded the note back up. “Thanks.” He suspected Tony had something to do with the gift card for the tuxes-- it didn’t matter. Bucky would have given his money away if he had any, to do something nice for his friends. He’d throw a big party when he signed on for the minors. It would be fun.


	19. Chapter 19

Bucky was a pretty good student, so he recognized most of the faces that had gathered in the library for the SAT strategy and tutoring session. Many of them looked surprised to see him, which was fair; Bucky had been pretty vocal about his post-graduate plans, and they didn’t involve college.

He shrugged sheepishly at the couple of them who met his eyes. “Can’t hurt to have a backup option, right?” He spotted Jim sprawled at a table toward the back of the room, and moved that way.

“This is a lot of trouble to go to, just to pass notes,” he muttered as he settled into his seat. “You could just stuff it in my locker.”

Jim smirked at him. “I don’t think it’d fit.” He nodded toward the library door where--

Tony was coming in, laden down with his enormous, overstuffed backpack, in deep conversation with Bruce.

“I could _kiss_ you,” Bucky commented to Jim. “How’d you get him out of the house?”

“Went over to work on our history project, and happened to mention that no one in our school has gotten a perfect SAT score in the last ten years.” He waved.

Tony spotted them and his face lit up, his eyes locked on Bucky as he wove through the cluster of tables. “Hi.” He slid into the empty chair on Bucky’s other side, as Bruce settled next to Jim.

“Fancy seein’ you here, dollface,” Bucky said. “Got your message.”

“Glad to hear it.” Tony’s hand found Bucky’s under the table. “How are you holding up?”

“Miss you like crazy,” Bucky confessed. “But mostly okay. My history teacher’s got some scholarship she wants me to apply for, on my paper about the Federalist stuff. It’s crap.”

Not least because even if Bucky _wanted_ to go to college, he’d need a full ride scholarship.

Tony laughed. “Scholarship essays always are,” he said. He leaned against Bucky’s side. “Got something for you, if you want it.”

“What’s that?” Bucky wondered. “You already had somethin’ to do with our shopping expedition the other day. You spoil me.”

“Some, but less than you might think,” Tony said, smiling. “This is... This isn’t anything fancy or expensive.” He dug into his backpack and pulled out a little box, about the size of Bucky’s hand. “I ever tell you I was born with a heart defect?”

Several times, in fact. It had been one of Tony's go-tos for arguments that he was losing. _I have a heart condition, what's the matter with you?_ But this Tony? 

"I think you said something about it. That scar on your chest." Like an autopsy scar, Bucky once thought, except those were never scars, since they couldn't heal. "A birth defect? Bet Howard _loved_ that.'

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t remember that. But when I was, uh, nine or ten, somewhere around there, I had surgery to fix it.” He rubbed at his chest, right where the scar was. “And a couple of years ago, my friend Pepper was over while I was cleaning out some old junk and found the old hospital bracelet -- you know, that stupid plastic bracelet they make you wear so they can identify you while you’re unconscious? I was going to just toss it out, but she took it, made this out of it.” He handed it to Bucky. “I want you to have it.”

Bucky took the little box, like a jewelry container, soft velvet, and opened it. His hands were shaking, because he knew what this was. _You’re going to be fine._

“Tony--”

The little gold heart _Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart_ was practically shiny new. Sparkling. Not worn at the edges and somewhat antiqued from years of being around Bucky’s wrist.

“It’s beautiful,” Bucky said, softly, brushing one finger over it. The catch on the locket opened up to display the remnants of Tony’s childhood hospital bracelet. 

“You don’t have to wear it or anything,” Tony said quickly, nervous. “I just. I want you to remember that you have my heart.” He wrinkled his nose. “Is that too cheesy?”

“Tony, I’m-- I’m honored. I… yeah, I’d be proud to wear it. I’ll try an’ take care of it. Your heart, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Tony searched Bucky’s face, then smiled, brilliant like the sun. “Okay.” He picked up the bracelet and opened the clasp. “Can I--?” Bucky held out his wrist, and Tony delicately looped the chain over it, fingers brushing Bucky’s skin as he fastened it. “You’ll have to take it off for games and stuff, I guess, but you should be able to do it yourself. I just kind of wanted to. The first time.”

Bucky held out his wrist, knowing just how the links would feel, how the pendant rubbed against his pulse point. _What brought me to this moment, that made this inevitable. That made us… inevitable._ Bucky had gotten really good using a crochet hook with his teeth to fasten the bracelet himself, and then later, the magnet catch Tony had put on it, but-- this was special, the most perfect moment.

He looked up at Tony, so close to him, eyes wide and brown as a deer’s. “Thank you.”

Tony blushed. “It’s not, I mean, a big deal. It’s just a kind of cheesy bracelet.”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky said. “It’s a cheesy bracelet. _And_ it’s a big deal. You’re a big deal. It’s… if it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.”

“ _You’re_ important to me,” Tony said.

“Touching as this is,” Jim put in from Bucky’s other side, “some of us are, in fact, actually interested in improving our test scores. Can you two go find a bathroom to make out in or something?”

“I ain’t never taken the SAT,” Bucky said. Part of that was because he was sure he was not going to college, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to spend the test-fee if he wasn’t going to college. “Don’t need to improve my score, need to _get_ a score.”

He gave Tony a wink and then pointedly turned toward to face the flickering slides, which was showing off the first of several test-taking strategies.

Tony twined his fingers with Bucky’s and leaned into Bucky’s side. His thumb rubbed against Bucky’s, a constant motion as if he were trying to soak up as much touch and comfort as possible for this short time they could be together.

Bucky wrote his notes, left hand tipped on the paper, right hand holding Tony’s left, feeling every click and slide of the links. The weight of the pendant, swinging lightly against his skin.

“I love you,” Bucky mouthed, the next time Tony looked over. “Always.”

“I love you, too,” Tony whispered back. “With all my heart.”

 _Just gotta figure out how to keep you_ , Bucky thought. _Forever._

* * *

It wasn’t what it was supposed to be. Not the way it went the first time. The first time through, Bucky had pulled up to Stark Mansion in his tattered Buick and picked Tony up. He’d rushed out the door, not looking back, not waiting for Bucky to ring the bell. “We should go,” he’d said. “Dad’s… in a mood. I said I was going stag with some friends, he… yeah, let’s just go.”

Bucky hadn’t minded. He had been driving the best looking guy at school to prom in his own damn car. Bucky had been on cloud nine and he thought nothing could bring him down.

Now-- he picked up Scott damn Lang. Scott’s mother had fussed over them, made them stand together for pictures, like they were _actually dating_. “Now, don’t get into trouble, boys,” she’d said, giving Scott a pointed look. “We won’t get the deposit back on your suit if you rip it.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know, we’ll be fine,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. He all but bolted out the door and let himself into Bucky’s car, slumping into the seat like he was trying to avoid Mrs. Lang taking pictures of them driving away.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Moms are the same, ain’t they all?” He threw it in gear. “Keep your hands to yourself. I don’t put out on the first date.”

The school was--

\-- Bucky almost staggered with sudden _deja vu._ He’d been here, and he’d been here again, and now he was here for a third time.

Third time’s the charm.

The rafters were bare, and Clint was not up there yet, but before the evening was over, he would be, with a bucket of glitter to dump on everyone.

There were balloons and sparkly streamers everywhere, trying to make the place look magical, mystical, otherworldly.

There were fog machines, pumping out clouds to hide the floor, and the music was so loud that Bucky could feel it in his pulse.

There was an arch of flowers; Bucky could turn in his tickets. But where was Tony? Once he entered the arch, if he went outside again, he couldn’t get back in. Theoretically, it was supposed to keep people from making out in cars, or smoking, or whatever they were doing for prom celebrations.

Bucky had just enough time to work himself up to worrying that Howard had rescinded his permission for Tony to come to prom when a sleek, black limo pulled up in front of the school. The driver got out and opened the door on his side, then walked around to get the other door, and Bucky stopped paying attention to the driver because there was Tony, following, looking heart-stoppingly beautiful.

His eyes searched the crowd, and he smiled when he saw Bucky. He followed the driver to the open door and reached in to hand Hope out.

Beside him, Scott sucked in a breath. “Oh my god. She’s so beautiful. I didn’t think she could get more beautiful.”

As far as Bucky was concerned, next to Tony, who was fire and gold and perfection, Hope was a mere shadow, barely worth noticing, like a pretty picture next to the glory of a star. “Uh-huh,” Bucky said. “Gorgeous.”

Arm in arm, Tony and Hope made their way up the walk to meet Bucky and Scott.

“You look stunning,” Tony told Bucky. “I am literally stunned, holy _shit_.”

“Beautiful,” Bucky agreed, again. He shouldn’t be so dazed. Tony had looked just like this last time, but it was a perfect memory, one of the last perfect memories Bucky had. When everything was going well, and they had their whole lives ahead of them.

It was good. Howard thought that Tony was with Hope, there was no reason for anything bad to happen. They could have a perfect prom. Bucky got the tickets out of his pocket, presented them to one of the student volunteers, someone who may or may not be going to the prom itself. But she looked nice; Bucky couldn’t remember her name, but she took the tickets and then checked them off in the log. “Tony Stark and Hope Pym. James Barnes and Scott Lang. Thank you, enjoy yourselves. Don’t forget to get your pictures.”

“Pictures,” Tony repeated, and winced. “I should-- Mom wants pictures,” he told Bucky ruefully.

“We can-- we can do it as a group, and then as couples,” Bucky said. “I’ll get the package with all of us in it, we can stand next to each other. No one will ever know.”

Tony considered that, chewing on his lip. “Okay, but-- First dance photos,” he said. “I heard they’re getting Parker to take pictures of the first dance, too.”

Bucky’s chest suddenly froze. “You’re going to have to dance with Hope,” he said. “I…” He hated himself all over again. How jealous, how crazy it made him. Hope… she’d been the symbol, if not necessarily the reality of everything that had gone wrong. “I-- uh…”

Tony looked unhappy about it, at least. “The first dance should be yours,” he said. “But I can’t-- My dad--” He rubbed at his chest. “I have to.”

“Yeah, okay, I know,” Bucky said. “I know. I hate this, I _hate_ it, Tony, but-- I understand. It’s… it’s all right.”

“It’s not, but...” He sighed and looked around. He caught Hope’s arm and leaned over to murmur in her ear. She didn’t look as upset as Tony did, or as Bucky felt, but she didn’t look happy, either, as she nodded and turned to explain things to Scott.

“Come on, come here for a minute,” Tony said. He caught Bucky’s hand and led him past the balloons and fog and flowers, out of the gym entirely and into the hall that led to the locker rooms. “If I can’t dance with you first, I at least want a kiss beforehand.” He backed up against the wall, pulling Bucky up against him.

“Always like this,” Bucky said, nudging Tony’s feet apart a little with his own, feeling the heat of him, pinning him in. “Jus’ like this.” And then he was kissing Tony, soft and sweet, feeling ten feet tall. Like he could… accomplish anything. Be anyone. Have everything.

Tony sighed and melted into him, bodies flowing together, hands moving over Bucky’s shoulders and arms, sliding up his neck and stopping just short of Bucky’s carefully-arranged hair. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” Bucky said, nuzzling at Tony’s mouth, little soft, baby kisses between every word. “Less’n a month ‘til school’s out. Sure he can’t keep you locked up much longer, right?”

“God, I hope not,” Tony said fervently. “He’s going with me up to Cambridge next weekend to look for an apartment. I think he thinks once I get moved up there, you’ll lose interest, or I will, or... something.”

“You won’t,” Bucky promised. “And I won’t. I want-- oh, Tony, I wanna spend-- years, and it won’t be enough.”

He pulled Tony back in for one lingering kiss. “Go dance, get it over with.”

“I love you,” Tony said. He looked up into Bucky’s eyes, then took a deep breath and put on his mask, that press-ready, too-confident smile that gave away nothing. “Right, let’s get this done.”

They got their pictures done, first as a group with Tony and Bucky standing behind Scott and Hope, presenting what looked like two couples, depending on how you were viewing it. Tony and Hope posed uncomfortably for a couple of shots, and then-- “Come on, man, my mom--”

Scott dragged Bucky into the frame, and then practically threw himself into Bucky’s arms, forcing Bucky to hold him up in some ridiculously exaggerated bridal carry. “The only reason I ain’t droppin’ you on your head is you’d rip your tux an’ I don’t want your mom being sore at _me_.”

“You got that right,” Scott said. He batted his eyelashes at Bucky. “You wanna be my date for my school’s prom?”

“No,” Bucky said, but he was laughing. “God, you’re so _weird_. Although -- maybe we should do stuff, you an’ me and Tony an’ Hope. Over the summer. Somehow, I can kinda see bein’ friends with you.”

Scott grinned. “Yeah, you’re pretty cool. I dunno about Tony yet, but if you like ‘im, he must be all right.” He laughed. “How many guys get to say they bummed around with _Tony Stark_ , man?”

“He’s the best,” Bucky said, and he looked out onto the dance floor where Hope and Tony were moving in soft, slow circles. He had the strangest sense of deja vu, that everything was inevitable. Patterns. That the universe had some sort of plan, and that no matter what, it struggled to get back on that path.

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1OwAWyx8kPCJSBuxZNBvAaJ6DUCxSVHcX)

Bucky found himself looking around the crowd, maybe to see a younger version of Doctor Strange, to see Steve by himself, but no, there he was, looking delicate and frail, but brilliant, almost incandescently happy to be with Natasha.

Clint threw his handfuls of glitter into the air and it sifted down slowly, shimmering in the air.

“I’m gonna marry that man,” Bucky told Scott.

“Good idea,” Scott said. “Lock it down before someone else steals him away.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Bucky said. 

The dance went on just long enough to be uncomfortable, and to bring Bucky face to face with every jealous, nasty feeling that he had, every bit of rage and his own sense of inferiority. And watched them burn away. Tony loved him.

Whatever happened, Bucky was going to do it right, this time. To remind himself every day that Tony had a choice, they weren’t coming together in a mix of rebellion and tragedy. Tony chose… Bucky.

Bucky watched Parker circling the floor, snapping pictures, and then let his camera hang against his neck as he went to talk to his girlfriend, MJ, who was manning the punch table.

“Can I cut in?” Bucky asked. Well, said more than asked, but he was trying to be polite.

Tony glanced around and spotted Parker, then took a neat half-step back from Hope. “Yes. Yes, you may. Hope--” But Hope was already holding out a hand for Scott, so that was fine.

And then Tony was in Bucky’s arms, and he wasn’t thinking about anyone or anything else.

“Hey dollface,” Bucky said, one hand on Tony’s waist, one hand linked to Tony’s, both resting on Bucky’s shoulder. “Miss me?”

“Every second,” Tony said. “Hope’s nice, and once her dad’s irrational prejudice against Starks is no longer relevant, we’ve got some ideas for ways to do business together -- but she’s not you. Not by a _long_ shot.”

“If her dad hates your dad, I gotta say, I might be on his side in that,” Bucky teased, turning awkwardly. Later, much later, Bucky had learned to _actually_ dance, and he and Tony had spent a while doing ballroom and the like, but right now, he didn’t want to draw attention. The last thing he needed was Peter Parker taking a photo while Tony and Bucky were doing a Lindy Hop or something.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t have a legitimate grievance,” Tony said. “It just shouldn’t extend to _me_.” He smiled up at Bucky, then sighed and rested his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. “Why can’t it just be like this, all the time?”

Bucky ducked his head to speak directly into Tony’s ear. “Because sometime, eventually, I’d like t’ lay you down in a bed an’ see what your pants look like on the _floor_.”

Tony shivered, head to toe, everywhere they were pressed together. “Yeah,” he said, a little shaky. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to that, too.”

“But this is good,” Bucky said, turning them in a small circle. “This is real good, right here. Where you’re all mine, an’ everybody knows it. Could dance with you forever, Tony Stark.”

“I’m all yours, for as long as you want me,” Tony said, smiling. “Whatever kind of dancing you want to do.”

"And everything else," Bucky promised. "Candlelight dinners, an' vacations, an' you can teach me to play golf or whatever things you do."

Tony hummed happily. “That sounds so nice.” He grinned up at Bucky. “You going to teach me to play baseball?”

“You bet,” Bucky said. “I’m dyin’ to see you in a pair of baseball pants, with th’-- erm, hips, you got.” He didn’t quite fail to notice the teacher, giving them a suspicious look. She paused, then let them go on by without insisting they make room between them for a third party. School dances were ridiculous.

And maybe just a little bit magical.

The magical air lingered for most of the evening. Tony and Bucky danced, and when they weren’t dancing, they were holding hands, or sitting very close to each other. Natasha and Steve and Jim and Carol joined them for a couple of ridiculous circle dances, and the school’s DJ seemed particularly fond of making everyone get up and do the _Macarena_ , since that happened a few times.

About halfway through the dance, rumors of an after prom party started circulating. There always was one, it was just how many kids could chip in to rent a few hotel rooms, and did anyone have older siblings that could buy booze?

MJ came out to make the announcements for Prom Queen and King, holding up a large box full of paper votes.

“So, who did you vote for,” Bucky asked, nudging Tony. 

Tony mock-gasped, rounding his eyes at Bucky. “Voting is a _private_ activity,” he scolded.

Bucky snorted. “Not like it’s gonna matter. Natasha and Rumlow are the two most popular people in th’ school.” For the same reason, if he’d asked any of his classmates: they were pretty and they were scary. But Bucky thought that they were very different reasons. Natasha was pretty and a little intimidating. Rumlow was scary, and happened to be good looking.

“Who did _you_ vote for, then?” Tony challenged, eyes sparkling.

“Natasha,” Bucky admitted. “And Clint, because that would be hilarious, and there’s no way I’m votin’ for Rumlow.”

“Fair,” Tony conceded. Reminded, he brushed his hand through his hair, knocking loose some of the glitter that had been dumped in it. “I voted for Natasha, and you.”

“Me?” Bucky was almost taken aback. “Why _me_?”

“Because I love you,” Tony said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re sweet,” Bucky told him, feeling obscurely guilty because it hadn’t occurred to him to vote for Tony. Not that it would ever matter, he already knew Rumlow would be--

“And the winner for this year’s Prom Queen, the lovely, the talented, the exceptionally dynamic, Natasha Romanoff.”

The DJ popped up a track and “oooh, just a little bit dangerous…” came on, as Natasha left Steve’s side to stand up on the little platform.

Bucky put two fingers in his mouth and split the air with a whistle, while Tony cheered at his side.

When the room quieted again, MJ held up her tally sheet. “The battle for Prom King this year was hot -- a neck-and-neck vote right up until the last day. Congratulations to our new Prom King... Bucky Barnes!”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

The DJ changed the track. “Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods--”

He stared at Tony. “What?”

Tony was laughing and clapping. “Go on, get up there!” He gave Bucky a gentle push in the direction of the front of the room.

He did not miss the look of pure hatred that Rumlow shot him as he climbed up onto the stage. Astonishingly enough, he and Natasha almost looked like they belonged together, her black and red gown contrasting his own black with red trim. “You little sneak,” he said to her as the cameras went off, flashing and blinking.

“I told you it would be fine,” she said, tucking her arm through his.

“I don’t wanna do a slow dance,” Bucky said. “How’s your bachata?”

Natasha stared at him. “You. Know how to bachata.”

“Dancing is something even a man with one arm can do,” Bucky said. “And I needed the workout. So, yeah, I can bachata.”

“Mm. We shall see. Dance is as much muscle memory as mental, and this body has not learned those steps.” But she leaned toward the DJ with her song request.

She was right -- he was a little stiff at first and his hips didn’t want to swing, loose and easy, the way they were supposed to, but they did a few crossovers and it started to come back. He was young, and his knees, at least, were still in really good shape. (When had his knees started aching regularly? He didn’t know, but it was a thing, and not a thing he particularly appreciated about getting older.)

The watching students were nearly silent for almost the whole first verse -- in shock, Bucky figured. Not many high school students learned more dancing than the lean-and-sway or a few fun moves for fast songs. But when the song tipped into the bridge before the chorus, Bucky spun Natasha out and then reeled her back in, and someone -- Bucky didn’t know who, but his money was on one of their friends -- let out a shrill whistle, and suddenly everyone was cheering.

“Not bad,” Natasha told him.

“Well, you’re amazing,” he told her on the next spin, before they lined up for a quick two-step, “but you already knew that.”

“Independent corroboration is always nice,” she said, laughing as she swayed with him.

“You trust me to lift you?” Bucky asked, as the song was winding down to a close.

“Yes,” she decided. “We should give them a thrill.”

Final tap, one two three, and Natasha leaped, her form perfect, the muscles of her belly taut and firm under his hands. He lifted her, dropped, and she spun as he caught her, giving her a low dip and a tantalizing flash of her cleavage for the crowd before he put her back on her feet. 

“You’re going to be amazing,” Bucky told her again.

She gave him a brief look, and then smiled as she linked her arm through his again so they could face their classmates. “I hope so.”

MJ put the stupid crowns on their heads, and a sash for each of them, as if everyone was going to forget that they were the Prom royalty if they weren’t identified. Finally, that ordeal was over and they parted, with Bucky going back to Tony, drawn as if by a fishing line. He looked straight at Tony, and the crowd practically scrambled out of his way.

“You,” Tony said with narrowed eyes, “have been holding out on me.”

“Mmmm,” Bucky said. “Only a little. I haven’t taken lessons in forever. Natasha was telling me how stiff I was.”

“I’ll be happy to practice with you any time,” Tony said. “That looks like fun.”

“Yeah? My back is going to be unhappy with me about that later,” Bucky said, “but I can teach you, if you want. Or you know, actual dance lessons, eventually. Some of the best baseball players out there do ballet on the side. Builds up core strength.”

“Yeah?” Tony cocked his head, considering. “Yeah, I can see that.” He smirked. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you in a leotard.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, that’ll be th’ day.” He tugged Tony’s hand and led him back out on the dance floor. “Come on, dance with me. I didn’t want to slow dance with Natasha, so-- you know, we decided to show off a bit.”

“Is it a little wrong of me to say I’m glad? I didn’t really want to see you slow dancing with her, either.” Tony let Bucky pull him in close again.

“Don’t worry about Natasha,” Bucky said. “She knows exactly what she wants, an’ it ain’t me.”

“I’m not _worried_ ,” Tony said. “I just didn’t want to spend the whole dance wishing it could be me dancing with you.”

They turned a few more delicate circles, Bucky resting his chin against Tony’s hair. “You wanna hit up the after-prom?”

Tony sighed. “I do, but I’m not allowed. I had to deal pretty hard to come at all.”

“Yeah, I know, honey,” Bucky said. “Jus’ seems unfair that everyone’s gonna be partying, and we’re headed home.” On the other hand, that after prom party had been the last time Bucky’d had both arms. Howard had dragged them out, practically by the throat. And everything went downhill from there. Maybe this time--

Tony sighed again. “It’s _so_ unfair. I don’t know why he has to be such an ass about it.”

“Well, it’s almost time to head out, anyway,” Bucky said, jerking his chin toward the door. “Want to duck out a little early? I parked my car all the way on the far side of the lot. We could make a little use of the backseat?”

Tony brightened up, shooting a look at Bucky from under his lashes. “If you’re expecting me to be shy and demure and make you talk me into it, think again. I _need_ to get my hands on you, after looking at you all night in that tux.”

Bucky nudged Scott. “Get on to the party. Clint will probably give you a ride, if Hope can’t. I’m going to make an early evening of it.” Bucky nodded toward Tony and winked. Scott would figure it out.

And then they were outside in the cool night air, summer not quite touching down. There were a million stars in the sky, and every single one of them was shining for Tony.

Or, so it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Natasha's Prom Queen song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFNRh26TPmM)
> 
> [Bucky's Prom King song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWcASV2sey0)
> 
> Also, for those of you who might have been wondering: Remember back in Chapter 1 when Tony was really excited to talk to Hope? That was because Hope's dad had finally turned the company over to her and Tony wanted to talk to her about a business partnership. Which he'd been thinking about since high school, as mentioned in this chapter. :)
> 
> ALSO also, scroll back up and click on those prom pictures so you can see all the amazing little details that monobuu put in there!!!


	20. Chapter 20

Tony’s hand was tight on his, long, graceful fingers twined together, and they kept absently bumping into each other, just to enjoy each other’s closeness. Even outside, Bucky could hear the music, muffled, but steady. 

They waited until they rounded the corner before Tony dragged Bucky into a kiss, pressed fast up against the brick wall. Bucky put his hand on Tony’s hip, finding the slit for his pocket and running one finger inside, the soft, thin cloth of the pocket’s interior smooth against Tony’s leg. “Hey there,” Bucky said, when Tony let him breathe.

“Hi.” Tony pressed against him harder, an undulation of the spine that rolled every inch of Tony’s body against Bucky’s. “God I want--” The sound of voices coming from around the side of the building stopped him. “Car?”

Bucky wasn’t quite thinking straight, and he grinned against Tony’s neck. “All th’ way in the south lot.”

Tony backed away a step, and then another, pulling Bucky with him. “Let’s go.” His pupils were blown wide and that might have just been the dim light in the street, but Bucky’s body thought it knew better.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea, love,” Bucky said, and he willingly went where Tony was leading. His car was parked all the way at the base of the lot, it was unlikely any teacher looking to bust students would bother to walk all the way out there.

They were halfway through the north lot, passing rows of cars and not really paying attention to anything but each other, when a car swerved a corner and pulled up right in front of them, entirely too fast, missing Bucky by less than a foot and squealing to a halt.

“What the fu--”

“Oh _shit_ ,” Tony breathed. His hand tightened in Bucky’s, and started shaking. “Dad.”

The car door opened and Howard got out. “So it _is_ true,” he growled.

Bucky didn’t quite mean to, but he took a step in front of Tony, and scanned the parking lot for any possible support. What he saw was Brock, leaning against a streetlamp and smirking. _Nothing personal_ , he mouthed at Bucky.

 _Sure feels personal_ , Bucky thought. He didn’t see anyone else, and that was _bad_. Howard was swaying gently, face furiously red, and Bucky didn’t think it was all anger. Howard was _drunk_.

Bucky’s whole body went cold. “Tony--”

Howard shoved Bucky roughly aside, and Bucky went, mostly because he was still so shocked that an adult would-- get physical with a kid. With someone else’s kid.

“Dad, listen--”

“No, _you_ listen!” Howard snapped. “After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve given you, you still go out of your way to defy me! You’re still letting this... this _pervert_ put his hands on you?” He stalked forward, and Tony scrambled back a few steps.

“He’s not a pervert,” Tony said hotly. “He’s a good man. Better than you’ll ever be!”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure that he disagreed with that sentiment. Regardless of what Howard had done earning his wealth, he had a weak character. He was a drunkard and a child abuser, and god only knew if he’d ever laid hands on his wife. Tony had never said. But Howard puffed up even angrier at that assertion.

“This loser, this pathetic waste of space, this--” Howard’s voice went up a decidable or seventy with every word until he was out and out screaming all the things he thought of Bucky, of Bucky’s family, where he came from, his mother’s job--

“You’ve been spying on my family? You sick bastard!”

“You’re damn right I had you investigated!” Howard yelled. “I could _ruin_ you for this, you--”

“Mr. Stark.” Principal Fury. Where the hell had he come from? “You maybe want to take a couple of breaths and calm down a little.”

While Howard whirled -- and almost fell -- to face Fury, Bucky grabbed Tony’s elbow and pulled him back a few steps. “Honey, do you trust me?”

“What? Yeah, of course, but--” Tony’s face was pale, but he clutched at Bucky’s arm.

“Your dad is shit-faced,” Bucky said. “Fury’s got him distracted right now, an’-- look, can you just do this for me? Please don’t get in a car with him tonight. _Please_.”

“I don’t know how I can avoid it,” Tony said, shakily. “He’s--” Tony waved his hand toward his dad.

“I know,” Bucky said. “And I know I’m askin’ you to eat a lot of grief over it, but-- Tony, don’t you feel it? Something _really bad_ is gonna happen. I am begging you, an’ if it’ll-- I’m _scared_ for you. I know I’m tellin’ you that taking a beating from him is the lesser evil, but I don’t think he’s like to drive home in a straight line, an’ Tony. That could be it. For everything. Game over, nobody wins.”

Bucky was all but puking, he was so scared. He knew there was no way that Howard could force him in the car, not with Fury watching, but there was no Maria here, and if Tony and Howard were the only two people in the car, Tony would be in the front seat. Howard and Maria had both died on impact.

Tony wouldn’t stand a chance. He braced himself. If Tony refused, or agreed to go with Howard, Bucky was probably going to have to get himself arrested to put a stop to it.

But he couldn’t let it happen. He hadn’t worked so hard to save his life, his love, his arm--

To lose Tony like this.

Tony examined Bucky’s face for a few seconds that seemed to stretch for hours, and then he pressed his lips together. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, if it means that much to you...” He took a breath and raised his voice. “I’m going to go make sure Hope gets home okay,” he announced, cutting through the argument Howard and Fury were having. “I’ll see you at home afterward, Dad.” He gave Bucky a look, squeezed his hand, and then turned, walked back toward the school, back straight and shoulders squared.

Hope appeared out of the crowd of students that were slowly gathering, and for once in his life, Bucky was actually thrilled to see her. Thank god for Hope.

Tony offered her his arm, and Howard lunged forward as if to grab his son, to yank Tony bodily away.

It wasn’t that hard.

Bucky stuck his foot out, and Howard tripped. It wasn’t even that bad of a fall, but it gave Fury a moment to recoup. “Come on, Mr. Stark, let’s not do this in front of the kids,” he said, hand on Howard’s bicep.

Howard stared at Fury for a long moment, fist bunching up, and for a moment, Bucky had the panicked thought that Howard was actually going to punch the principal of the high school. That he was going to watch two adults go at it like they were tough guys in a lunch hour pushy-pushy.

Then the moment passed. Howard jerked his arm away, straightened his jacket with mock-dignity. “You’ll pay for this,” he told Bucky in a low, dangerous voice.

But Tony was already in the limo, and the limo was already pulling away.

Tony was going to be fine, and if it meant-- he couldn’t even think how bad it would get. How bad for Tony it could be, but he would be alive. And where there was life, there was hope.

Bucky couldn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. He couldn’t be sorry for what he’d done, and he couldn’t say all the things he wanted to say to Howard. Couldn’t-- well, maybe there were some words. But Bucky couldn’t unleash all that vitriol. That was for Tony to do, and those things were for Tony to say. When he was older. When he was ready.

“Go home, Mr. Stark,” Bucky said. 

Howard snarled one last time, but he slammed back into his car and pulled away, already weaving.

Bucky glanced up at Principal Fury, “I don’t suppose you dare call the police and let them know that Mr. Stark is out there, driving under the influence?”

Fury gave Bucky an unimpressed look. “This is a _prom_ , son. I know you kids think we’re all idiots, but the police are well aware that the number of inebriated drivers in this area will be higher than usual.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, sir,” Bucky said, and he meant it. Fury had probably just saved both of their asses and he didn’t even know it. “I’m just worried. Mr. Stark’s not safe.”

“No, he’s not,” Fury agreed. “For more people than himself.” He met Bucky’s eyes seriously, and Bucky understood he was aware of Tony’s situation. “I’ll alert the police, but I don’t know if there’s anything more they can do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bucky said. “For everything.”

Fury made an answer that was more grunt than words, and Bucky decided getting out of the way before Fury decided that handing out detentions sounded like fun. “Come on, Scott,” he said. “Gonna get you home, and then we can both sit by the phone and wait to find out how bad this shit is going to be.”

* * *

Bucky had only just dropped off into a fitful sleep, it seemed, when the phone’s shrill ring startled him awake.

His heart was already racing; no one ever called in the dark of night with good news. That seemed like some sort of law of the universe.

“Barnes,” he said, snatching up the phone before it even finished the first ring. Hopefully it hadn’t woken Ma or his sisters. Or if it did, they’d just go right back to sleep when it didn’t ring again.

“Bucky.” Tony was in tears, or close to it. “How did you know?”

“Tony? Doll, oh, god, it’s--” _good to hear your voice_ , and then Bucky realized how close Tony was to sobbing, or had been sobbing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-- Yeah, I mean.” His breath hitched a little. “Dad’s in the hospital.”

This was all _entirely_ new. Howard wasn’t dead? “Oh.” Bucky swallowed hard. “Car accident?”

“Yeah. He... They told us he would’ve died at the scene except there was a patrol car already passing by and the cops managed to keep him alive long enough for the ambulance to get there.”

_Thank you, Principal Fury._

“Tony, I’m-- I’m sorry,” Bucky said. Even if he wasn’t, he would never be. He’d… he’d done it. Saved Tony, himself, Maria. Everyone was okay. Well, mostly. Mostly. “Is he gonna be all right?”

“Probably, mostly,” Tony said. “He’ll have some scars, and a limp. They’re going to keep him at the hospital for observation for a few days.”

Something bubbled up in Bucky’s throat and he suppressed it, fairly certain his relieved laughter wasn’t what Tony needed to hear, right now. “I’m glad he’s gonna be okay,” Bucky said, choking off another burst of that inappropriate relief. He was nearly giddy with it, verging on irrational. 

“No, you’re not,” Tony said, letting out a laugh that was half-sob. “But that’s okay. Maybe... Maybe he’ll cool down some while he’s there. Or he’ll be so mad at the hospital for interrupting his work he’ll forget about me.”

“No, I mean it,” Bucky said. “He might be a dick and a half, but Tony, he’s your father. I don’t-- I don’t want anything permanent to happen to him. It’ll be okay, and thank _Christ_ you weren’t in the car with him. I--” 

_Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you at the cost of saving myself._

“I love you,” Tony said. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“No, I-- I only just drifted off, I’ve been sittin’ here with the phone in my lap, hopin’ you’d call,” Bucky said. “Do you need to um, go sit with him at the hospital or somethin’? I could come over, if you need a friend.”

“We just got back home,” Tony said. “But maybe, maybe if you want, you could come over tomorrow? Since he won’t be here to kick you out again. Mom won’t care.” He sounded so hopeful, so tentative.

“Rumlow called him,” Bucky said. “Just so you know. I saw him, before shit went down at the school.”

Tony sucked a breath. “What an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I love you, Tony. Thank you. For trusting me. Because I don’t know if I-- if something happened to you--” Bucky’s latent hysteria turned into grief for something that hadn’t even happened, but they’d missed it by so narrow a margin. He gulped on a sob. “Heh, Steve and Nat ain’t even come home yet. I wonder what they’re up to.”

Tony let out a watery giggle. “I’m pretty sure you know exactly what they’re up to. Be sure to tease the hell out of them when they turn up in the morning.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that. The lucky little bastard,” Bucky said. “I’ll, just call, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be over as soon as wishing. Get some rest. I love you. To the moon and back.”

“To the stars,” Tony countered. “No turning back now.”

“G’nite,” Bucky said, and he let the receiver down slowly.

He didn’t know exactly how to react, but his body was coursing with adrenalin. Shaking, he put the phone back on the kitchen counter, and then collapsed on the sofa. Steve had a little blow-up mattress just to one side, but it was empty of Steve. Maybe he and Natasha were asleep in some hotel room somewhere. Natasha seemed like the kind of girl who would have put money aside for it, and not wanted her prom date to drive home drunk, or even stagger down the street intoxicated. She was a practical sort.

Bucky slowly laid down on the sofa. His rental tux was already in its bag, waiting to be returned.

Except for the pocket square.

He was going to keep that.

Bucky tucked it up against his cheek. It smelled a little like Tony’s cologne, and a lot like Bucky’s hair gel, and a little bit like gym. 

Perfect evening.

He left himself drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you familiar with our work may have been surprised and/or disappointed to see that this fic is rated M instead of E. That's because Tony is underage here and Bucky is mentally (though not physically) a full-grown adult, and we were hesitant to include explicit content in this fic under those circumstances, even with our usual "here there be smuts" warnings at the top.
> 
> On the other hand, we did _write_ a "lost chapter" featuring what happens the day after Prom (including, yes, some smuts). If that's something you want to read, we'll be posting that today at [this link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916581/). (The link will not work until that post has gone live.)
> 
> If the idea makes you uncomfortable, then _do not click_. We've done our best to help you curate your own experience, here; the rest is up to you. Comments on that chapter will be moderated.


	21. Chapter 21

The bus out to the All-Star game was ancient, the seats torn, the walls scribbled on everywhere. There was gum stuck all along the rail in front of him, and the floor was sticky with-- well, Bucky really didn’t want to know.

The last week had been almost like a dream; spending afternoons with Tony and not having to worry. Howard was still recovering; compound fractures being complicated injuries. From what little Tony said about it, he was having reactions to pain medications, and then he’d gotten a chest infection. Bucky’s Ma had always said going to the hospital was the best way to get sick, and Howard was proving that.

Mostly, though, Bucky was happy, Tony was safe, and everyone was more focused on what seemed like the sudden couple of the year -- Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers.

Natasha rolled her eyes whenever anyone asked about it and said that if no one else could see why she’d chosen Steve, then she wasn’t about to _tell_ them. Steve, for his part, was mostly bewildered by his sudden popularity, and somewhat belligerent about it, too. “I wasn’t good enough when it was just me, but now I’ve got Nat, everyone wants to be my friend? What the hell kind of friendship is that?”

“You were always good enough for me, pal,” Bucky had said, ruffling Steve’s hair and making a mess of it. Steve had glared the entire time he’d been fingercombing it back down, but Bucky knew he wasn’t really mad.

Bucky sat all the way in the back of the bus. Rumlow had taken the front seat, and Bucky would rather not deal with him.

Not just yet. But they were plotting.

What Rumlow had done crossed a line; there was unspoken rules about bullying and being a jackass, and Rumlow had jumped all the way over them.

Getting parents involved.

Even some of Rumlow’s usual hangers-on had looked a little uneasy when they'd heard about it. They weren’t going to risk his wrath to join in on Bucky’s revenge, but they might be willing to turn a blind eye. At least the two of them were the only ones from the team in the All-Star game.

Behind the bus was a caravan of cars, anyway. Packed to capacity with every team fan, every school spirit student, all going on a school-endorsed trip out of town. They’d pile into the stands with all the other schools that had athletes in the game to scream and cheer and goof off. Sitting in the back let Bucky lean against the bus seat, look out through the back door window, and sometimes catch glimpses of Tony’s vehicle. Not the limo this time, something with a lot less flash, but could fit Tony and Steve and Nat and Jim and Clint all crammed into the car, with Jarvis driving. Another week, maybe, and Tony would have his license, assuming he didn’t flunk the behind the wheel portion the first time around.

Some kids did. Especially if you got one of the sadistic test administrators, who made people parallel park as part of their exam. Not that it wasn’t a necessary skill to have, in the city, where there were often fist fights for prime parking spaces. Still.

Tony was blithely full of confidence about it, though. Bucky had never actually seen him driving, so he hoped Tony was actually as practiced and meticulous as he seemed to think.

The bus changed lanes, and Bucky got a clearer glimpse of the car. Everyone was laughing, though when Nat pointed toward the bus, they all leaned forward to wave ridiculously, giving him a thumbs-up and some kind of cheering that, obviously, Bucky couldn’t hear. Jarvis seemed to be enduring the crowd of them with his usual unflappable patience.

There were other cars, behind them, or around them; everyone had, for reasons that Bucky couldn’t quite fathom, gathered at the school first. Maybe so everyone could ride share, he wasn’t sure. And those cars were covered with soap drawings and stuffed with students from other schools, or Rumlow’s fans, or-- whatever. They weren’t in a traffic slow-down. They _were_ the traffic slow-down.

Everyone who was there, now, was on the Western Districts team: two from Bucky’s school, a pitcher from Queens, another from Manhattan. Bucky didn’t know any of them. They’d get a bit of warm up together, and then play.

All-Star.

Bucky smiled and stared up at the ceiling. He was going to play in his _second_ All-Star game.

They were going to actually celebrate Tony’s sweet 16 birthday, rather than ignore it with funeral plans.

Bucky was not going to have to endure Tony’s guardian, a man that Bucky had always loathed, Obadiah Stane, looming over Tony for most of the first year of their marriage.

So much had changed.

The future seemed to be a great wide open.

[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=10ndhQFuACZsiyjZxMj8tD-Fr97ybcxNm)

So, of course, that was when the seat in front of him shifted, and he glanced over to see Rumlow had moved from the front of the bus to take the empty seat, grinning maliciously.

“What?”

“You going to be able to actually play, or are you going to spend the whole game daydreaming about your little boy toy?” Rumlow wondered.

If Rumlow was a friend, or even not an enemy, Bucky would have commented that he often thought about baseball while he was with Tony, so he didn’t see why he shouldn’t think about Tony while he was playing baseball. But wit given over to Rumlow was wit wasted, and not worth the effort.

“Thanks for your concern,” Bucky said. “I’ll be a’ight. How’s your swing practice drills going? Figure out which end of the bat to use, yet?”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my bat,” Rumlow growled. “But don’t you worry none. I made sure to let the other guys know you’re a limp-wristed pansy who can barely throw as far as the pitcher’s mound. They’ll make sure you don’t get worked too hard out there.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s All-Star. And I already have offers on the table, Rumlow. You ain’t hurting my chances. Just your own, if we can’t play together.”

Rumlow’s lip curled. “You think those offers’ll still be any good when word gets around?”

“I think no one cares, Rumlow,” Bucky said. “So long as I do my job, no one that matters… cares. Why’s it bother you so much? I ain’t interested in your ass, so why’s it so personal for you?”

Rumlow glowered at him, muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and swung back out of the seat, launching himself back to the front of the bus.

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered. Rumlow was the most stereotypical self-hating, deep in the closet, turns out to be gay later asshole that Bucky had ever met. He rather hoped Rumlow didn’t turn out to be gay. He would give gays a bad name.

The bus pulled into the stadium; from his back window view, Bucky could see someone waving all the cars off to the side, toward the actual parking lot. They’d have an hour or two to tailgate and talk smack with fans from the other division before the stadium seating opened up, while the teams got in a little practice.

Rumlow seemed more than a little disappointed that more of the guys wanted to talk to Bucky about his exhibition game than were worried they were going to catch the gay, and Bucky spent a few minutes talking about that, before the coach called them to attention. The All-Star coach was someone Bucky’d never met before, a college team coach who came out special just for this game.

Smart. Bucky slumped down on the locker room bench to listen to the spiel. He had a lot of good advice for working together under little to no lead in, and set up the pitchers and catchers to discuss signals and abilities, while he took the rest of the team out for batting and catching practice.

Baseball team members, like football and basketball, were always a touchy-feely batch. Bucky was used to getting his arm punched affectionately when he did good, or sometimes he’d get his ass swatted. He was used to that, it didn’t bother him, and he didn’t take anything flirty away from it.

But he was noticing at the All-Star team had two groups of players; the ones who did not touch him at all, and the ones who made a point of doing so.

It was gonna be a long damn game.

Bucky sighed, and then took his place at the plate.

* * *

It took Bucky a while to realize what they’d done.

Generally, he didn’t pay attention to the various announcements rolling over the PA system, or any of the announcements up on the scoreboard. His basic premise was that if he couldn’t keep track of the score without consulting the board, he was doing something wrong, and frankly, he rarely cared about the opposing team’s averages. It wasn’t like he was pitching.

The opening screed gave everyone’s home school, their batting averages, and for a chosen few, their plans after school. Mostly what college they were going to. Or one other guy who’d been scouted and was playing for the Norfolk Tides starting next season. And then everyone laughed.

Bucky blinked, glanced up.

_Brock Rumlow: Brooklyn HS, position: Professional Sneak, GPA 1.8, Future Plans: Serving 5-10 for petty crime_

Bucky’s eyes widened and then he looked back down immediately, like that would help not draw attention to himself.

Rumlow’s expression was _furious_. “What the hell did you do, Barnes?” He strode over to stand over Bucky, hands on his hips.

Bucky spread his hands. “Didn’t do nothin’,” he protested. “I been at practice, same as you.”

“Sure, while your little cocksucker of a boyfriend did something to the roster list, I bet. I know you had a hand in this!”

“Well, you know what they say,” Bucky said. “What goes around comes around. You get up to shit with people, you gotta expect ‘em to hit back. Maybe you should try leavin’ people alone what ain’t bothering you.”

“You didn’t get nothing that wasn’t coming to you, you fucking faggot!” Rumlow charged him, fist raised, and half a dozen teammates piled in to hold him back.

“You idiot,” one of them hissed, “you’re gonna get kicked out of the game! Save it for later!”

“Or better yet,” Bucky said, straightening his jersey. “ _Let it go_ , Rumlow.”

“Rumlow, get your ass on deck,” the coach yelled, thumbing at the box painted on the field just to one side of home plate. “No one’s here to watch you get in a fight.”

Bucky shifted in his seat as Rumlow walked away. Two more batters after him, provided Rumlow didn’t strike out or something equally ignominious, and it would be Bucky’s turn. 

“What the hell is going on with you, Barnes?” the coach demanded after Rumlow was out of earshot.

“Rumlow’s a sorry attempt at a human being,” Bucky said. “People don’t like it.”

The coach gave Bucky a long, measuring stare, then grunted and turned back to watch the game. One of the other players smirked at Bucky and held up a hand for a high-five. “That guy definitely had it coming,” he said.

“I’ll be happy as hell when it’s June and we’re all on our merry way as adults,” Bucky said. “Watch me get a restraining order so fast your head’ll spin.”

Despite everything, Rumlow still hit better when he was angry. Maybe that’s why he spent so much time angry. Bucky thought if he was more successful when he was pissed off, maybe he’d walk around with a hell of an attitude, too. 

Well, probably not, because Bucky didn’t really enjoy being angry. He knew some people like that, people who started arguments online because they seemed to really enjoy the process of being pissed, of getting under people’s skin, of being a dick to people who couldn’t punch them.

Rumlow could, honestly, punch Bucky. And Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if he’d win, if it came down to swinging. Maybe if it was fair odds. Rumlow probably wouldn’t play fair, though. He seemed like the kind of asshole who’d get five or six of his friends together and go hunting, trap you in a stairwell or something.

But that wasn’t Bucky. He’d be just as happy to leave the guy alone, if Rumlow would leave him and his alone.

Rumlow managed a double. The next guy struck out, and then a single, and it was Bucky’s turn. When he stepped up to the plate, he heard familiar whistling and cheering from the stands, faint over the sound of the larger crowd, but still distinct.

Bucky stepped up, stared at the pitcher. His death glare was probably not very effective; the opposing all-star pitcher would be just as professional as possible. But it was a habit now, and Bucky didn’t see the need to smile. The catcher said something that Bucky didn’t quite catch, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the guy dropping his signals. 

The first pitch was a fastball, high and on the inside, and Bucky aborted his swing for a ball. Rumlow was on third and the previous batter on first; if Bucky was walked, it would load the bases but wouldn’t be a run. Bucky had a sinking feeling that the guy on deck behind him might be an easier strike out than Bucky.

Another ball.

Well, at least he wasn’t being obviously walked -- the catcher stayed in his position, rather than standing off to one side of the base to catch easy pitches.

Just barely over the din of the crowd, he heard, “Knock it to the moon!” followed up by one of Clint’s obnoxiously loud whistles.

The pitcher spun the ball in his fingers, idly fidgeting while he considered the next pitch. Behind him, the catcher shifted, just a little.

_Bring the heat, come on you coward_ , Bucky thought. He thought maybe he was being lulled into some false sense of security, and every bit of Bucky’s focus went to the pitcher. Rumlow’s assholery faded away, even his friends dropped out of his mind. He was only there, in this one moment.

The pitcher whirled and threw to second, keeping the guy on first from sneaking too far off the baseline.

“Come on, come on,” Bucky said. He swung his bat once, aggravated, getting tension out, and then tapped the base again. _I’m ready_.

He pitched it, steady, steady--

Bucky hit it with the tip of his bat and it flew backward over his head and into the stands. “Strike one!”

“That’s one strike, three balls on second baseman, James “Bucky” Barnes,” the announcer told everyone what they’d just seen. “Barnes is fielding several interesting offers, although rumor says he hasn’t accepted any minor league positions at this time. This particular all star game could make or break his potential as a professional player--”

“Oh shut up,” Bucky muttered, gritted his teeth. He took a breath in, listening to his heart beating over everything else.

The pitcher wound up and threw that fastball that Bucky had been waiting for. 

Bucky swung with everything in him, and--

\--heard a sickening crack, accompanied by a vicious jolt up his arm--

Half his bat went flying, and the catcher was suddenly dodging the falling debris. Bucky didn’t watch the ball-- he knew his aim had been good. He let the broken bat fall to the dirt and fucking _ran_.

Rumlow cleared home to tumultuous applause. 

And the ball was still going. Bucky made second base before it hit the wall and bounced onto the ground, all the way out in outfield.

The batter in front of him cleared home plate.

Bucky stopped at third, panting for breath.

“ **Safe!”**

The crowd was going insane. Now that laser focus wasn’t necessary anymore, Bucky glanced up into the stands, at his friends. They were on their feet, jumping up and down and waving their arms around.

Tony caught him looking and blew him a kiss.

“Keep your eye on the prize,” the third base coach advised. Bucky watched Tony for another thirty seconds or so before turning his attention back to the plate. All he’d need was a good ground ball to the outfield and he could come home.

The next batter struck out. Two outs, two runs. Not bad, really, for the inning, but Bucky was greedy. He wanted it all.

He probably wasn’t alone in that want. But now he had to be careful. They’d throw to get him out, end the inning.

Foul.

Ball.

Strike.

“Oh, come on,” Bucky muttered. He snuck off third, getting a good twenty feet off the plate before the pitcher turned, and Bucky had to dash back. He did it again. Making the pitcher _angry_.

And a third time.

Finally, the pitcher threw, and his ball was weak. The batter made contact. Not nearly as flashy as Bucky’s busted bat, but a good show. It went up, up-- and the fielder missed it.

Bucky ran, and then, following the coach’s frantic gestures, plowed the dirt with his foot, hitting that slide, feeling the ground, rough and unfriendly, under his thigh.

“ **Safe!”**

Bucky watched as the batter made second, then dusted himself off and went to sit down.

“Good run, Brock,” he said, trying one last time for peace. They were even now, right?

Rumlow didn’t look at him, only acknowledged Bucky’s gesture with a grunt. He was leaning forward, focusing on the game as if he could read the future in the next throw.

The next batter hit a pop fly right to centerfield, and the centerfielder actually _yawned_ just before he caught it. Bucky chortled. That guy was an asshole, and Bucky liked him immediately.

But it was time to hustle out to the bases and play a defensive game. 

Second base was a great place for Bucky to keep his eye on the entire game. Rumlow pulled on his catcher’s gear and squatted down behind the plate, trading catches with the pitcher for a moment to get warmed up.

And, much as Bucky didn’t like the guy, Rumlow had a sense about him, the way he could tell a batter’s weakness, made the right judgement calls. It sucked, because the team could have been amazing, if they’d all been working together instead of at cross-purposes. 

Well, that would all change next year, Bucky decided, no matter who he decided to play for.

Rumlow had a head for figures, too.

He knew everyone’s batting average, even if he’d only seen it once, knew their strengths and weaknesses. Rumlow was a planner. A strategizer.

Too bad he was also an asshole.

He successfully guided the pitcher into two outs, walked one guy, and then the fourth guy tried a bunt to make a base, and Rumlow tagged him out, no problem

Quick inning.

Bucky glanced out as he headed back to the dugout. Tony and the rest of Bucky’s friends were all still there; Natasha was actually holding up a huge, hand-lettered sign, but whatever it said, Bucky couldn’t read from this angle, the stadium lights were too bright in the wrong direction.

He tipped his hat at them, and then took his seat on the bench.

And the game went on.

* * *

The mood in the locker room, post game, was more jubilant and less tense than pre-game had been. They’d scored one more run in the top of the fifth, but Rumlow and the pitchers had enjoyed some sort of telepathy, and the other team had only managed one run against them.

Beautiful game.

It was the perfect ending to what had been a perfect season.

Bucky showered as fast as humanly possible, not wanting to get caught out, if Rumlow was still brooding on revenge for revenge for revenge. He was halfway across the parking lot, looking for Tony, when someone yelled for him.

“Barnes?” The man was tall, lanky, with a face that looked like it hard been carved out of rock. By someone who didn’t really know what faces were supposed to look like. 

“Yeah?”

“Coach Phillips here,” the man said, catching up. 

Bucky spotted Tony and waved.

“Sir?”

“I coach for the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Railriders,” he said. “We’re one of the farm teams for the Philadelphia Phillies. And I got an offer here you might want to consider.”

Tony came jogging over. “You were amazing!”

Phillips was droning on a bit about the Railriders and their average call ups to the Show, a hefty sign on bonus of almost _thirty thousand dollars_. And a monthly season salary of $1,500, which was crap, quite frankly, and Bucky would have to get a place outside the city, and with a roommate or three to hope to afford that. But…

It wasn’t quite three hundred miles from Scranton to Cambridge. Certainly drivable, on a regular basis. Closer than any of his other offers.

“Saw you play, kid,” Phillips said. “You got a lot of raw talent. Come play with us, two years, and we’ll get you into the Show.”

Tony was waiting, practically quivering with suppressed emotion, but he shot a sidelong look at Phillips. “You can do better than fifteen hundred.”

“You make me cry, kid,” Phillips said, glancing at Tony. “Don’t you ever eat? Who are you?”

Bucky grinned, shaking his head at Tony in amusement. “This is Tony Stark. Tony-- Coach Phillips of the Railriders.”

“Is he representing your interests?”

“I can’t think of anyone else who’s got my interests more closely guarded.” Bucky shrugged. “Is he right?”

“This is the time to invest in your future with the game,” Phillips said. “That means paying your dues.”

But he looked a little sly. Tony was right. Phillips was able to _do better_.

“Phillies are a good team,” Bucky allowed. “But, uh, this was a really good game, and I have a few other offers on the table.” It was, Bucky thought, amusing that _Phillips_ was the coach for the farm team of the _Phillies_. He thought about mentioning it, but took another look at the guy’s no nonsense face.

Probably best not to.

“Bonuses are where it’s at, kid,” Phillips told him. 

“So increase the bonus,” Bucky said.

Phillips hemmed and hawed for a bit, then-- “Tell you what I’m gonna do,” he said. “We’ll increase that salary to eighteen hundred a month, and sign you on for forty grand.”

It was still crap pay, but it was minor leagues. Bucky would have to stretch that bonus over two years, or more, until he got called up. He could live at home during the winter (or with Tony, his brain whispered) and keep a short lease apartment.

It could work.

“Tell you what, Coach Phillips,” Bucky said. “You get that offer to me in writing, and I will carefully consider your proposal.”

Tony nodded. “It’s a solid offer,” he agreed. “We’ll have to do some pros and cons with a couple of your others.”

“It was nice to meet you, Coach,” Bucky said. “I’m gonna head home now, it’s been a long day. You have my number, right?” Because of course he would. The school had been giving out Bucky’s contact information left, right, and center.

When Phillips nodded, Bucky said, “Great, I look forward to hearing from you.”

He drew Tony around with him. “Where’re you parked at? I hope we can all fit in your car, I don’t really want to take the bus back. Rumlow and I-- yeah, it got nasty for a bit.”

Tony grimaced as he led Bucky back through the parking lot. “Tensions running high, I guess.” It morphed into a grin. “Did you see it?”

“Oh, yes,” Bucky admitted. “Thanks for not telling me about it beforehand. I got to be as surprised as anyone, which probably was the only reason he didn’t actually swing at me.”

Tony rounded his eyes at Bucky. “Telling you what? I didn’t have anything to tell you. I certainly wouldn’t stoop to hacking the scoreboard display.”

“Liar,” Bucky said, fondly ruffling Tony’s hair. “I’m sure there are other people who could do it, but I don’t know why they’d bother.”

Tony sniffed indignantly, even as he took Bucky’s hand. “I did _not_. I may have had a _purely theoretical_ discussion with a friend of ours about the process. What they did with that information, I can hardly be responsible for.”

“What I want to know,” Bucky said, looking back to make sure Phillips was well out of hearing, “is who th’ hell Rumlow is blowing to stay on the team, if his GPA is really that low.”

“That, I cannot tell you,” Tony admitted. “Also, that’s a terrible mental image to have to contemplate, how dare you make me see that with my own two inner eyes.”

“With mere words I can insert any thought into your head that I want,” Bucky said. He paused for a long moment. “I refuse to use this power responsibly.”

Tony cracked up laughing. “God, I love you.”

“Of course you do,” Bucky told him. “I’m very lovable. And I give excellent blowjobs.” He timed that almost exactly, so Tony couldn’t respond in kind without their friends, or possibly, more importantly, Jarvis, overhearing.

Tony was still red-faced and spluttering as they climbed into the car, nearly deafened by the cheering. Everyone shifted around to make room, and Tony ended up on Bucky’s lap.

“Careful,” Bucky said. “Got a big ass bruise down that thigh, so try not to bounce around too much, will ya? Sliding into base _looks_ cool, but it’s hard as hell on the body.”

Tony shifted most of his weight to the other side. “We’ll put some tiger balm on it for you when we get back home.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, Rumlow thinks the scoreboard stunt was bad, he’s lucky I decided not to lube up his jockstrap with tiger balm.”

There was a predictably loud chorus of semi-sympathetic groans, winces, and exclamations as the guys in the car all thought about how that would _feel_.

Clint actually covered his crotch with both hands. “Jesus, Barnes, you pull _no_ punches, do you?”

“I can’t decide if I’m proud or terrified,” Steve admitted.

“I didn’t _do_ it,” Bucky said. Then, lower, more threatening. “But I _will_ , if he fucks with Tony again. That shit was all kinds of not cool.”

“My hero,” Tony sighed dramatically. He draped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “The school year’s almost over. We won’t have to deal with him at all anymore after that.”

“That is absolutely the plan,” Bucky said. “Get the diplomas and get out of here. Like. Scranton. What do you think, Tony, was it a square deal?”

“For a minor league farm team, maybe,” Tony said. “Let him stew a couple of days and see if he bumps it any more.”

Then Bucky had to explain to everyone else about Phillips and his offer, and they spent a good chunk of the ride back dissecting Bucky’s various offers.

“Does have the benefit of bein’ not that far from Cambridge,” Bucky said, in a soft voice, while Steve debated the merits of the Phillies over the Bosox. “I could come see you, pretty regular.”

Tony leaned in to nuzzle Bucky’s cheek. “Yeah, that’s going on the ‘Pros’ list, for sure. I could maybe come down for a game once in a while, too.”

“Groupie,” Bucky said.


	22. Chapter 22

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat, a scream dancing along the end of his tongue. With some effort, he choked it down. 

_\--he’s in the car, in the back seat, when Mr. Stark takes his eyes off the road to yell at Tony._

_They drift over the yellow line and the bright lights of oncoming headlights fill up the car._

_Bucky remembers Mrs. Stark screaming, “Howard, Howard, look--”_

_And Tony, who doesn’t even see the accident coming, is crying. Red faced and furious and ashamed and terrified all at once. He is lucky he can see anything, through the tears._

_Bucky sees it all, and Howard jerks back around, yanking the wheel too sharp to one side. The truck strikes the car on the driver’s side, shearing the fender and the doors right off._

_Bucky’s arm--_

\--was fine.

The ache in his arm was familiar; long after the accident was over, and he’d healed, Bucky had what they called _phantom limb syndrome_ , the nerve endings reporting an error in the system. He’d kept it to himself for months, terrified that he was losing his mind. How could his arm hurt when it wasn’t there--

And then he’d had an episode so bad while at a movie with Tony that he’d made several pained noises and then fled the theater to cower in the hall like some sort of goddamn lunatic.

Except there had been a man there, a combat vet, they later found out, who had rolled to a stop near Bucky, and Tony who’d been hovering anxiously, trying to figure out what was wrong. “That PLP, that’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

The man, Mike Peterson, had been missing one leg from the thigh down, and the other from just below his knee. “Always get it in my toes, myself,” Mike had said. “Like a charlie horse. Don’t know if you’ve tried acupuncture for it, but that helps me a lot.”

“What?” Bucky had managed to say, looking up and wiping his face on the arm he had left.

Bucky sat up on the couch and gripped his own hand, squeezing the fingers. I can’t have phantom limb in an arm that ain’t been taken off yet, he insisted, angry and half panicked.

His nerves insisted right back that his arm was _on fire._

Bucky whimpered, letting the sound slide between his teeth before he remembered that he wasn’t alone in the living room.

Steve, on the floor on a blow-up mattress, shifted, rolled over, and woke up.

“Buck? You okay?” He sat up, bunching the sheet on his lap.

Bucky nodded, knowing it was a lie, but unable to do anything else. He rubbed, frantically, up and down his arm, squeezing his wrist, feeling the firm, warm reality of his arm under his fingertips, and still, his arm insisted it was both there and not there at the same time. He hissed again as heat raced through his bones, making the whole thing feel like someone was twisting it off.

“Bad dream,” he managed.

Steve made a sympathetic noise, then rolled to his feet. He padded into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. “Here, have something to drink,” he urged. “Sometimes that helps.”

Bucky had a hard time holding the glass, his hands were shaking and his fingers kept cramping up. “I dunno, guess I slept on it wrong or somethin’,” Bucky confessed after he slopped about half the water onto his sweatpants. He had the most pressing urge to call Tony, to make sure Tony was all right, that Bucky hadn’t dodged the accident and dumped that bad luck on someone else, someone precious to him.

“You want some cream or somethin’ for it?” Steve perched on the edge of the couch, hovering. 

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a soft noise, a faint scratching and a light tapping. Jesus, they hadn’t had mice or rats in the walls for years. 

He made a face, then shook off his blankets, getting his feet under him. Maybe moving around would help. Couldn’t really make things worse, honestly. He continued to knead at the muscle in his forearm, not quite _scratching_ , but it might come to that sooner or later. He listened, trying to find the source of the sound, which…

… was coming from the front door.

That did not make sense at all, and Bucky moved closer, quietly, trying to see through the fishhole -- it was half clouded over with age, but he could see someone out there.

Another light tapping, barely loud enough to hear even right next to the door.

“What is it?” Steve asked, hands clenching and unclenching nervously.

“Someone’s out there,” Bucky whispered. He checked to make sure the chain was secured. Not that the door was all that remarkably sturdy as it was. Although, if someone was trying to break into his place, they were greatly mistaken about how much there was of value in the apartment. “Maybe some homeless guy, I dunno, can’t see very well.”

“Should I get your Ma?” Steve wondered.

Outside, the figure slumped against the door, a scraping-scratching noise as they slid down it to the floor.

“Yeah, not yet,” Bucky said. “She works a lot, don’t want--” He flipped the deadbolt, very slowly, but the clatter of the lock seemed really loud in the stillness. 

He left the chain on and opened the door about two inches. “What do you want?” he demanded of the dim shape in the hall, slouched against the wall.

The figure looked up hurriedly. “Bucky?”

Tony was bundled into a hoodie at least three sizes too big, the hood pulled up and down over his face, but Bucky could see enough to see that his eyes were wet and red.

“Oh, god,” Bucky said, and he-- “Hang on, I left th’ chain, what the hell…” Bucky was scrambling with the door, pushing it closed and sliding the chain off the rack. “It’s _Tony_.”

Finally, he got the door open. “What-- come in, come in, what happened, how-- how did you _get here_?”

Tony climbed to his feet and let Bucky pull him inside. “Walked, mostly. Remembered the address from when you told Jarvis. Sorry.” He was limping a little. He lifted one hand in greeting to Steve, who was still standing in the middle of the room, but made no move to push back the hood.

“Hey, no, it’s okay, it’s fine,” Bucky said. It was utterly unreal, Tony being in his living room like this; he wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t still dreaming. This was something that had never, ever happened. One of the very first things Tony had done, after the accident, before Bucky had even come home from the hospital, was rented a nicer place for the Barnes family. He hadn’t taken no for an answer. Bucky couldn’t really imagine it; Tony must have faced down Ma at some point, but never that Bucky had ever seen or heard tell about. At the time, Bucky had been too deep into his own misery to care, much less worry about it. “Are… is everything all right?”

“Uh. I don’t... Not. Not really.” Tony curled his arms around himself, looking around the room but not actually seeing anything, as far as Bucky could tell. “Um. Dad came home.”

“That’s…” Bucky was going to say good, but it obviously wasn’t. “Unexpected? He’s pissed, I take it?” Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to do now. He put his hand on Tony’s arm, and drew back when Tony startled at it.

“He’s...” Tony chewed on his lip. “I don’t think I can go back.”

“Tony--” Bucky said, very gently. “Did-- did he hurt you?”

“Not... Not really. Not much.” Tony stared at the floor, the threadbare rug, as if it held the secrets of the universe. “He’s still in a cast. Can’t move very fast. I ran.”

“Well, thank god for that,” Steve said.

“All right,” Bucky said. “Come on, come sit down, you gotta be wore out after-- everything you’ve been through.” Slowly, gradually, he managed to nudge Tony toward the sofa where Bucky slept, the tangle of blankets still in the way. “Sorry about this. I ain’t got… a bedroom or nothin’.” Even in the middle of Tony’s distress, Bucky wished he was better, came from a better place, had something to offer Tony aside from a saggy couch and a can of generic soda.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said again, twisting the cuffs of the hoodie around his fingers. “I didn’t know where else to go. I know you’ve already got Steve staying, I just-- I’ll figure something else out in the morning, I just couldn’t _think_.”

“Tony,” Bucky said softly, “I want you to come t’ me, if you’re in trouble. Right? I’m your partner, your boyfriend. I _want_ to help you. We’ll work somethin’ out, promise.”

Finally, _finally_ , Tony looked directly at him, and his eyes were so wide and frightened and _lost_ that it made Bucky ache. “It’s okay? I can stay?”

“Yes, yes, absolutely, Tony. We’re not gonna make you sleep in the street, don’t be ridiculous,” Bucky said, finding Tony’s hands under all those sleeves and squeezing his fingers. 

Like Bucky had hit a switch, Tony suddenly unfolded, practically falling into Bucky’s arms. He was shivering, shuddering, minutely but constantly. He wasn’t crying, but his breathing was rough and uneven. “I don’t... I don’t know what to do.”

Bucky put his arms around Tony, drawing him in. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Do-- uh, do you have, like, accounts that are yours? Trust funds, or somethin’? You might be able t’ apply for emancipated minor status, if you don’t want to go home again.”

Tony sniffled, burrowing into the warmth of Bucky’s arms, hiding his face in Bucky’s neck. “M-maybe,” he said tremulously. “I gotta go to--” His breath hitched and the shivering ramped up a notch. “Sorry, I just. Can we just go to sleep? Think about it in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Here, you guys take the mattress, no way you’ll both fit on the couch.”

Bucky nodded. “Gimme a minute,” he said. “I gotta tell Ma, or she’ll hit the roof in the morning, an’ that ain’t no way to wake up.” He gave Tony a quick kiss on the forehead. “Be right back.”

Tony clung to his hand for a moment, then nodded and reluctantly let go, wrapping his arms around himself again.

Bucky hated to leave him there, even to just go the dozen or more steps to Ma’s bedroom. He looked… utterly pathetic. Scared. He slouched down the hall and rapped twice on Ma’s door before opening it a crack. “Ma-- sorry to wake you up.”

Ma rolled to face him. “Thought I heard voices,” she said softly. “What’s going on? Steve okay? Is he having another asthma attack?”

“Stevie’s fine,” Bucky said. “Uh… Tony’s dad kicked him out of his-- I mean, you know, Tony. My, uh, my boyfriend? His dad kicked him out of the house, an’ he came here, lookin’ for somewhere to sleep. I wanted you t’ know.”

Ma’s lips pressed together. “Well, things are tight, but we’ll make do, I expect. I don’t reckon you two can get up to much with Steve right there in the room with you, but I’ll say it anyway: no funny business. We all gotta sit on that couch.”

Bucky’s neck heated furiously. “No, Ma, we-- uh, no we won’t.” Good Christ, did she think he would risk that, with sisters coming in randomly at all times of the day? They only had the one other bathroom -- Ma kept the ensuite strictly for her own use, the one bit of privacy she said she got in the apartment.

“All right, then. You boys get some sleep; it’s late. And in the morning you can introduce me.”

“Yes, Ma,” Bucky said. “Thank you.”

Bucky closed her door and went back to sit down on what had been Steve’s place. “Come on, baby, come lay down here with me. Ma says you can stay, so long as we’re not, you know, makin’ it on the sofa. You’ll probably hafta do your share of chores, but it’s okay. You’re good. You’ll be safe here.”

Tony sat down gingerly next to him. “Okay.”

Steve stretched out on the couch -- unlike Bucky, he could actually straighten his legs while lying down there -- and dragged a blanket up over himself, yawning. “Night.”

“Night,” Tony whispered back. He looked over his shoulder at the narrow mattress. “Uh, how do you want to--?”

This, _this_ Bucky knew like he knew his own name. “Here, lay down, on your side, I gotcha.” He tucked himself in as the big spoon, curling Tony up protectively in his embrace. The smell of Tony’s hair was as familiar as a lullaby. It took him a minute to figure out what to do with his left arm; it hadn’t previously entered the equation, but he jammed it under the pillow and snuggled in. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

***

They wouldn’t have been able to sit together anyway; the school wasn’t actually hand-awarding six hundred diplomas, that would be a nightmare by anyone’s reckoning. And boring. So most of the seniors just got to sit wherever they wanted.

Except for the top ten.

Of which Tony was salutatorian. 

That had been an interesting day. The placements had been posted three days before, and Tony had practically dragged Bucky down the hall to see.

And he’d stopped dead in front of the paper, blinking.

“No! I was so sure--”

The girl standing next to them had turned to Tony with a smug grin on her face. “It’s okay, Stark. I’m sure you did your best.”

Tony’d snorted and rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, sure, on that _glitter glue_ project we did in the _third grade_.”

The girl had grinned wider. “You’re smart, Tony, but you lack my creative flair.”

Bucky’d looked over Tony’s shoulder. “How many decimals did they have to carry to, in order to find a difference? You two are-- wow, loads smarter than me.” He scrolled down the sheet, but he wasn’t even in the top twenty-five, which was as far as the school bothered to track. Either you graduated or you didn’t.

At least his GPA hadn’t been there for everyone to gawk at.

“Eight decimal places,” Tony had said glumly. “And they had to pull our records all the way back to second grade.” He’d sighed, then offered the girl his hand. “Congratulations, Shuri.”

“I have accepted placement at Wakanda’s technology university. So, we will not be in competition there, at least,” she had said. “You are for MIT, yes? That is also a very good program. Study hard, and you may yet race me to the moon.”

“How about Mars?” Tony had challenged, and Shuri’d laughed, shaking his hand again.

Now, they sat side by side on the stage. Shuri was serenely calm, poised as a queen, while Tony’s nervous jitters were clear from the audience. Well, to Bucky, anyway. He was doing a pretty decent job of hiding them from anyone who didn’t know him well.

Bucky sat with most of the rest of his friends. Natasha was also in the top ten, and therefore in the first row with the rest of the academic achievers.

It didn’t matter too much; they’d all get together after the ceremony to throw their hats, scream and yell, and then go out to party.

And then-- well, then it would be the start of something new. 

Some people had one last summer vacation before heading off to college. Some would start their new jobs. A few of them would be headed off to gap-years in the workforce or peace corps or something. Jim Rhodes was going to a summer version of boot-camp, the poor guy. College first, and then the military, but they wanted some sort of blood, sweat, and tears out of him before sending him off to study.

Bucky had three weeks off, and then he was headed to Scranton, having signed his contract with the RailRiders. 

Playing baseball as a job.

Steve and Natasha were planning a road trip for the summer; she’d already bought herself a motorcycle, a slick looking black and red Russian import that would be right at home in a futuristic cyber movie.

Fury _finally_ finished talking. Tony would give his speech, get his diploma, then Shuri, then the rest of the top achievers. The rest of them already had a little pretend piece of paper. Their actual diplomas would be mailed to them.

“At least exams are done,” Bucky said, pushing his legs out in front of him. “If I never see another test paper again, it’ll be too soon.”

“I hear that,” said Clint, slouched next to him. “Jeez, why do these have to take so long? Just say congrats and send us on our way!”

“Parents want to see it,” Bucky said. “Well, some, leastways.” 

Ma was there, along with Bucky’s sisters (he could see Rachel squirming from here) and Uncle Freddie.

But Tony’s parents had been almost hostile in their absence. Tony had joked about giving away his seating passes (each student was allowed to bring up to five guests, and there had been a black market trade going on, as people bargained away spare tickets to those people who had much larger and more vocal families). But then he got an unexpected request from Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis.

Bucky’d thought Tony was going to cry.

He couldn’t see the Jarvis’ from where he sat with the other graduates, but the way Tony’s eyes kept returning to one section of the audience, he figured Tony had spotted them.

Tony and Shuri had, all rivalry aside, worked on their speeches together to make them complementary, thoughtful, and funny. Shuri presented Tony with a large bottle of glitter glue, “so that you may always continue to improve.” Tony gave her an utterly ridiculous construction paper card that, the instant Shuri opened it, _exploded_ with glitter, practically covering her, Tony, and most of the academic tops. “Sometimes,” Tony said solemnly, “more is better.”

“And now I’m glad we ain’t sittin’ in the front,” Bucky remarked. Not that, with both Natasha and Tony soaked in the stuff, it wasn’t going to end up on Bucky, Steve, Clint, and probably everywhere in the Barnes’ tiny apartment. Glitter was the herpes of craft supplies, and he said as much to Steve and Clint.

They cracked up, which had Jim and Quill leaning in to demand to know the joke.

The top ten marched up, got their own fake pieces of paper, and then--

Fury tried in vain to remind them not to throw their caps into the air, but really, he might as well have saved his breath. What was he going to do, take away their birthdays? Bucky’s cap went sailing toward the stage with an expert flick of his wrist. He’d written _JBB & AES_ on his with puffy paint in the craft room while Tony and Shuri were doing one last walkthrough, so it should be a surprise.

It didn’t quite land in Tony’s lap, but it was close enough that someone -- not Shuri, but whoever that was on Tony’s other side -- nudged him and pointed. Tony looked at it and grinned, cheeks going a little pink, then looked out into the crowd, seeking Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky held up both hands, making a heart with his curved fingers. _Love you._

_Love you_ , Tony mouthed, then darted forward to scoop up the cap.

Students didn’t bother to file out in an orderly fashion. There was some vain attempt at organizing an exodus, but mostly what happened was a mob of students trying to find their friends and family. Knots of people clotted the doorways and the halls were swarmed with people. 

“You’d think none of us learned how to stand in line,” Bucky remarked as he swam uphill, so to speak, in order to get to Tony first.

“I failed that class,” Clint said, punching Bucky lightly on the arm before peeling off to find whoever it was he was looking for.

Bucky was not the first to find Tony -- when he finally spotted his boyfriend, Tony was standing by the wall, two caps and a fake diploma under his arm, talking excitedly to Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis.

“Oh, look, it’s my favorite whist partners,” Bucky exclaimed. “Hey there, babe, your speech went _great_.”

Tony beamed even wider and slid an arm around Bucky, not coincidentally dumping a whole handful of glitter on him. “Yeah? Glad you liked it. I think it went over pretty well.”

“Allow me to offer my congratulations to you, as well, Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Jarvis said, a small, proud smile touching his features. “It is no small accomplishment.”

“Meh,” Tony said with a wave of his hand. “If Rumlow can manage to graduate, anyone can do it.”

“Rollins is taking summer school,” Bucky pointed out. “He failed history.”

Becca managed to break free through the crowd, followed closely by the rest of Bucky’s family. “You were supposed to _come find us_ ,” she accused him.

“You’re too short to look for,” Bucky said, loftily. “I decided it was easier for you to see me, than me to find you.”

“Jerk,” she accused, swatting him on the arm.

Ma’s eyes were wet as she dragged him into a hug. “My little boy,” she sighed. “All grown up now.” She reached out and dragged Tony into the hug as well before releasing them to introduce herself to the Jarvis’.

“Seems odd,” Bucky said, looking around at the crowd. “This is the last time, probably, that we’ll all be together in the same room.” Last time, there’d been a few witnesses for the wedding, but-- well, maybe they could have a party, this time. Some fancy reception. 

In a few years.

After Bucky established himself in the majors. Once they were actually _grown ups_ , instead of merely out of high school.

“There’s always reunions,” Tony said brightly. “We’ll all get together again in ten years to find out who’s got kids, who’s not aging well, and who’s on their way to the Hall of Fame.” He nudged Bucky with his elbow.

“Yeah, that’ll… that’ll be fun,” Bucky said. He had a -- flash back? Flashforward? -- brutally vivid memory of watching Tony blotting lipstick off his collar. “You’ll be Doctor Stark, sending your second rover to explore Mars.”

Tony grinned. “I like the sound of that. Or maybe I’ll let Shuri design the rockets while I build the rovers. I like the idea of putting my robots on Mars.”

“I’m quite certain that DUM-E would enjoy that as well, Anthony,” Jarvis said. “He is, I fear, a trifle despondent at your necessary absence. But I have been attending the workshop, and keeping him charged and occupied. Some day, perhaps, you will be able to relocate him.”

Tony looked a little worried. “I hope so. He’s a little big to slip into Ana’s purse and bring me while you’re out running errands.” Jarvis had brought Tony several things with just such similar tactics -- several changes of clothes and a toiletry kit, his school bags, a few notebooks from his workshop.

“Where’s Steve?” Rebecca demanded, bored with the talk and craning her head around. “Isn’t he going home with us?”

“I think he’s speaking with Natasha’s folks,” Tony told her. “He’ll catch up to us in a little bit. Unless he doesn’t.”

Ana dabbed at her eyes a bit with a kerchief she’d plucked from that self-same bag. “Speaking of sneaking things out to you,” she said, and offered him a letter on creamy stock. “Your mother-- well, she left it out with some loud commentary about how she wished she had a way to deliver it.”

Tony huffed. “Subtle, Mom.” But his hand was shaking a little as he took the envelope. “I’ll... read it later,” he decided, and tucked it into the little folder with his speech notes. “Tell her I’m... I’m okay. Better.”

Bucky squeezed Tony’s shoulders. 

“We’d best be on our way,” Jarvis said. “Lest we draw more notice than necessary. We wish you very well, Anthony.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. He leaned forward to hug Ana tightly, and then Jarvis. “You have the number, call when you can.”

“All right, let’s see if we can get out of here,” Bucky said. “Grab a burger, before we head out to do some serious celebratin’.”

“You boys be careful,” Ma said, reaching up to hug Bucky again. “And don’t stay out too late.”

Bucky laced his fingers with Tony’s, tugging him away as he waved to his family. “Define too late! No, no, can’t hear you!”

Tony laughed, squeezing Bucky’s hand as they went in search of their friends. “Welcome to the rest of our lives.”


	23. Chapter 23

_Fifteen Months Later_

Bucky straightened out his suit -- the fall dance for Tau Epsilon Phi, the fraternity that Tony had rushed, wasn’t quite as formal as prom had been, which was good, because renting a tux was a lot easier when someone else was picking up the tab -- and knocked on the door of the frathouse.

Tony had moved in pretty much as soon as the rush was over; he needed to save the extra money for the fees and books and food that weren’t covered by his scholarship.

Bucky didn’t blame him, either. He was living in a two bedroom apartment in fuck-all Pennsylvania with three roommates in order to make ends meet.

But they were doing it. They were managing. They’d been managing for over a year, and things were tight and tense, but still good.

The guy who opened the frathouse door wasn’t someone Bucky had met before. He looked Bucky up and down and then whistled, low and appreciative. “Dude, I wasn’t going to go to the formal, but if I had a date that cleaned up like you, I’d be all over it.”

“You should see me in my other outfit,” Bucky said. “Lookin’ for Tony Stark?”

The guy grinned and leaned backward to yell up the stairs. “Hey, babyface! Your date’s here!”

A chorus of wolf whistles and cheerfully leering shouts almost masked the sound of Tony’s feet on the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, you guys are just jealous!” Tony yelled back as he reached the floor.

“Damn straight,” said the guy at the door.

Tony shoved at the guy playfully and then filled the doorway himself, grinning at Bucky breathlessly. “Hi.”

“Hey there,” Bucky said, offering Tony a tiny hothouse box with a single red rose on a wrapped holder, dotted around with forget me nots. “For your boutonniere. And--” He reached into his jacket while Tony took the plastic box. “For you, the very first one.”

Encased in a protective sleeve -- James “Bucky” Barnes’ rookie card. Signed, of course. They weren’t quite available in general bubblegum packs, but the diamond’s souvenir kiosk sold them for $1 each.

  
  


[ ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1bRDALFW5ysAmCa9-wobgOYb6JEZCaYJ2)

  
  


Tony took the card and read over it closely, front and back, as if he wanted to make sure all the information was correct. “This is fantastic!” he said, and tipped his chin up to kiss Bucky. “I’d say it’s going to make my first million, but I’m never going to let go of it, so.”

Bucky chuckled. “We’ll see. Phillips kept me benched most of this season, so my stats aren’t great. But next year… Of course, the odds of my playing in the majors are about the same as a thief guessing my pin number on the first try.”

Tony carefully tucked the card into his breast pocket and stepped outside, closing the frat house door behind him. “Nah, you’re going to play the majors,” he said confidently. “I give it three years, max.”

“I seldom bet against you,” Bucky said. “But you might be biased in this particular circumstance.”

“Care to make it a wager?” Tony asked, eyes sparkling with mischief. He barely stood still as Bucky pinned on the boutonniere, launching himself into Bucky’s arms the instant the pin was settled. “God, I missed you.”

“I call you every other day,” Bucky protested, laughing. He kissed Tony’s face several times, deliberately missing his mouth. “Are you-- trying to grow a beard?” He backed up a step and traced the line just over Tony’s top lip. Yeah, that was a little bit of fuzz there.

“ _Am growing,_ ” Tony said firmly. “I’m tired of them calling me babyface. I’m not a freshman anymore; I don’t have to put up with my rush nickname.”

“Fully aged sophomore meat,” Bucky agreed, quoting one of those terrible John Hughes movies. “Okay, I’m going to have to insist, if you want to keep the beard, grow out a full goatee. The soul patch is just not doing it for me. You look like Howie Mandel.”

“Ug. Okay, full goatee it is. I’ll have to pick up some trimmers, next time I’m in town.”

“Well, I love you no matter what,” Bucky promised, “but I think a goatee will… help shape your face. You’re getting more adult cheekbones anyway, the last of that roundness-- I don’t know, you do remember to eat, right?”

“Most of the time,” Tony said. “That guy--” He waved back toward the frat house. “--Logan, he’s kind of the house mom. Makes us eat, hands out demerits for missing chore duty, all of it. It’s kind of funny.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bucky said. “Sorry I’m running late, I know I missed having dinner with you. Traffic was a bear. But we can dance and then grab late night burgers or something, right?”

“Sounds perfect,” Tony agreed. “Any time with you is a good time.” He tucked his arm into Bucky’s as they walked. “How long can you stay?”

“Next mandatory practice is Wednesday, so if you guys have a gym where I can get in two workouts, I’m yours until Tuesday afternoon.”

“Yeah?” Tony did a little skipping hop of happiness. “There’s a gym on campus. Might even be batting cages, I’m not sure.”

“I wouldn’t be shocked. You’re at a college, there are college sports,” Bucky said. “How are classes going?”

Not that they didn’t talk on the phone several times a week, but Bucky never quite tired of hearing how _excited_ Tony was about his school work. Bucky chipped in a few stories about the team, in between various college adventures. “Oh, I got a postcard from Romanogers last week. Natasha said to give you a kiss, but I’m greedy. All your kisses are for me, or from me.”

“Or both.” Tony laughed. “How are they doing? Where are they now?”

“Well, the postcard was from Texas, but the post-mark came from Indiana, so I’m not quite sure, but somewhere out there,” Bucky gestured. Probably west, but it was hard to tell, the sun being down and everything. He could have been indicating Venus.

“I’ll have to remember to swing by the campus post and see if I have anything from them,” Tony mused. “Sometimes I envy them a little. Just roaming around doing whatever they want.”

“Trying to find Steve’s muse out there in the midwest. Oughta put that bitch in a cage once they catch up to her, really,” Bucky said. “Yeah, sounds fun. Maybe… maybe someday, we could do something like that. It’d be fun, see the world, or the country, or even the state. New York is damn big, I know I haven’t even seen half of it, even playing ball up and down New England.”

“That could be fun. Maybe on my winter break, before spring training starts. Or, you know, after I graduate, we could take a whole month and just... ride around.” Tony leaned into Bucky’s side, happily dreaming aloud. 

“That’d be nice,” Bucky mused. “We’d at least be able to have sex whenever we wanted.” Between Bucky’s living situation and Tony’s, privacy had been exceptionally scarce, even when they could spend time together.

Tony whined a little at the mention of sex. “I swear, I’m about to go looking for a closet in the library or something where we can hide for half an hour.”

“If there’s a nice dark parking lot somewhere on this campus, I’ll blow ya after the dance,” Bucky offered. “Back seat of my car’s big enough for two.”

Tony shivered in anticipation. “I will absolutely make it worth your time,” he promised. “I’m pretty sure we can find a quiet spot.”

“You’re always worth my time,” Bucky said. “You’re-- you know that, right? Everything else, that’s secondary. Distractions… it’s you. It’s always been you.”

Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand. “I know, honey. Everything’s okay, if we’ve got each other, right?”

The campus building where the dance was didn’t look much different inside than prom had. There were fancier light machines, and the music was a little better. It didn’t smell like a gymnasium. Tony had said it was one of the meeting halls, so there was that. An actual bar, even if neither Tony nor Bucky could drink yet. They did not get a stamp on their hand, indicating underage. An official school function, rather than one of the frat parties that Bucky had been to, where they didn’t care how much you had to drink, or what age you were.

Tony made the rounds once they were inside; several of the frats and sororities combined their formal events, so there were a _lot_ of people.

There was glitter on the floor and it sparkled in the dim light, like walking across a starfield.

Tony kept Bucky’s hand in his as he talked to people he knew, people he wanted to meet -- already talking to some of the best and brightest about his ideas for a start-up company, hoping to recruit or garner investments. But he always introduced Bucky, kept Bucky in the conversation, checked in from time to time to make sure Bucky wasn’t ready to pass out from boredom. It was a far cry from the Tony of their would-have-been future, the one Bucky could barely remember in the face of this Tony’s affection and enthusiasm.

Finally, laughing a little at Tony’s determined talking with one particular woman, Rumiko, about a possible partnership, Bucky dragged Tony out onto the dance floor. “We’re at a dance,” he reminded Tony. “We should do some of that, too.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Tony folded himself into Bucky’s arms. “Sorry, I got carried away again.”

“Well, I can always _carry_ you away,” Bucky said. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. Just want to hold you for a bit.”

“Any time you want,” Tony said. “You’re the most important thing, to me. You know that, right? Even if I get distracted sometimes?”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said. “You got my back, I know it.” All they had, it seemed, was each other. “You an’ me, against the world.”

“We’re going to take it by storm,” Tony promised, eyes shining.

* * *

The air was just starting to feel the bite of winter, now that the sun had been down for several hours. The campus was far from quiet. Weekend nights were a good time for the students to blow off steam, and they passed several groups of party-goers as they walked.

But Bucky had Tony under his arm and they were warm enough. Tony kept looking up at him with those shining eyes. Happy. With Bucky, with school, with his classes. Even without the ridiculous bank accounts of Howard’s at his disposal. Things were tight, but Bucky was used to tight. 

And it was bothering Tony a lot less than Bucky had ever supposed it would.

“I had a good time,” Tony said. “Did you? Once I stopped networking, anyway?”

“Yeah, it was fun, meeting all the smart people,” Bucky said. “Ballplayers, you know, sometimes, it gets a bit thick. And I’m not just talking about all the spitting that they do.” Bucky shook his head; he’d never been one to spit, Ma wouldn’t allow it, and he just never got into the habit, but oh, Christ, the amount of dudes who were constantly salivating and spitting -- on the ground, into empty cups. Ug.

“Good, glad you had fun.” Tony’s hand worked its way under Bucky’s jacket, two fingers tucking under the waistband of Bucky’s pants. “Want to go drive around and see if we can find an unlit corner of a parking lot somewhere?”

“You know it,” Bucky said. “It’s been way too long since I got my hands on you.”

His car was way out on the edge of campus anyway -- they didn’t have lots of parking to start with, although they didn’t ticket on the weekend, at least, so that much was good. Bucky turned them, and started heading in that direction. “One of my teammates is selling his old Shelby,” Bucky said, a little wistful. “It needs a lot of work, which-- yeah, we got no place to store it or work on it, but man, it’s _pretty_.”

“Oh, yeah, the Shelby’s a gorgeous machine,” Tony agreed. “Maybe when you hit the majors, or once I’ve graduated and got my feet under me, we can try to find one, yeah?”

Bucky expanded on that theme; it was a game he’d liked to play back before he had money and it became a moot point and he had to watch what he said at all, because Tony would buy him anything he so much as looked at admiringly -- _what will we do when we’re rich_. He was just getting warmed up when a splash of high beams nearly blinded them.

Bucky squinted, raised a hand--

The car was careening out of control, half on the sidewalk, half on the road--

It smashed into a set of bike racks, spewing metal debris everywhere, but it didn’t slow down--

There was no time.

And it was coming right for them.

Right for _Tony_.

Later, maybe, he would say it was just instinct. But it wasn’t.

He made his choice.

Bucky grabbed Tony around the middle and threw him as hard as he could, several years of baseball strength training under his belt. Shoved him away from the oncoming car. 

_Safe._

“Bucky!” He heard Tony distantly, as if through a long, echoing tunnel.

Bucky dove in the other direction, rolling as he hit the ground and fetched up against the building. For a second that seemed an eternity, he thought, maybe, maybe, they were safe.

But there was a force in the universe, perhaps, that had already plotted their course, and maybe they could get off track a little, but it would struggle to put things back on their intended path.

The car hit him with a sickening thump, and the crunch of brick and metal was too loud to hear anything over, except--

“ _Bucky!_ ” Tony’s voice was a rough screech of panic. “ _No!_ ”

“I’m here,” Bucky tried to say, but he didn’t have any breath. 

There was so much pain, he seemed to exist outside of it. Somewhere, below him, or behind him, was his body, in agony, but in this strange fog, there was nothing, only Tony’s frantic voice, the warm gush of blood, someone staggering out of the car, stumbling drunkenly. _I’m here. I’m alive._

“Honey? Honey, stay with me! Oh, fuck, baby, this is-- You, _you!_ Call 911, _now!_ ” Tony’s voice was a lot closer now. That was nice. “Bucky, sweetheart, stay with me. You’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” Bucky said. Trying to think about words was making the pain worse, but-- “love you--”

“I know, honey, I love you too. Everything’s going to be all right, just. Just hang in there, okay?” Tony was crying, every breath a hitching sob.

“Looks bad,” Bucky said. He meant to nod, but he wasn’t sure he managed that. He swallowed, spit blood, then, “for your bet.”

“Don’t you worry about that right now,” Tony said. “You’re going to get through this. _We’ll_ get through this. You’ll see. You’ll play the majors. I promise.”

Bucky turned his head, trying to see. Knowing he didn’t want to look, and he couldn’t help it. But Tony put his hand on Bucky’s jaw, brought his attention to Tony’s brilliant, tear-bright gaze.

“I’m okay,” Bucky said, which was stupid, because he was not okay. “You-- did you get hurt?”

“No, honey, you-- you saved my life, probably. I’m a little bruised, but I’m fine.” Tony curled his hand around Bucky’s jaw. “I love you. Stay with me, okay?”

“I-- do m’ best,” Bucky said. “Feel… a little like you’re goin’ away--”

There was brilliant light, flashing, and something screaming. Probably the ambulance, but Bucky’s shock-battered system was presenting it as a wailing demon. “Don’t-- don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you the whole time,” Tony promised. “You’re stuck with me.” He held up Bucky’s hand in his -- the right hand, the one that wasn’t mangled and trapped between the crashed car and a pile of bricks that used to be a wall. Bucky hadn’t even realized Tony was holding his hand. But Tony lifted it and squeezed, pressing his lips to the knuckles. “I’m not leaving your side.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, “Okay…”

There were suddenly people-- around. Police and rescue and firemen and--

Bucky didn’t look. He just stared at Tony. Let them do what they needed to do, let them say whatever they needed to say.

“That’s right,” Tony said, “you just... you just keep looking at me. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you go.”

“I think-- I think I might pass out,” Bucky said. “Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be--”

Blackness reached up for him, and when the fire and rescue guys pushed the car backward to get him out, Bucky screamed--

And went with it.

* * *

He remembered vaguely, once, waking up. But it almost seemed like it happened to another person.

Maybe he didn’t wake up, not for a long time. He remembered screaming, reaching for the pain in his arm to discover that he didn’t have an arm.

But that might have been--

“Might have been the first time,” Bucky said, muffled through a mouth that felt like he hadn’t used it in a while. It tasted horrific, like garlic and dead things.

A soft rustle to his side, and then Tony was there, leaning over him, eyes red-rimmed and complexion pale. “Bucky? Honey? You waking up?”

“Five more minutes,” Bucky said, like Tony was an annoying alarm clock.

“You take all the time you need,” Tony said. He brushed his fingers down Bucky’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Is… it’s bad, yeah?” Bucky closed his eyes, trying to lean into Tony’s hand.

Tony’s breath shook a little. “It’s... It’s pretty bad, yeah,” he admitted. “Your arm is...” He stopped, swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, honey, but they had to amputate.”

“What--” Bucky said, stopped to breathe. Suddenly breathing was harder than it had any right to be. He’d beaten it, goddammit! He’d-- breathe. Breathe. Watch Tony’s face. “I-- I know.”

Tony’s eyes were welling with tears. “They. They did everything they could, but-- there was just too much damage.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, struggling to sit, and then -- _muscle memory_ \-- he got it, remembering the trick to leaning and pushing with only the one arm. “Hey-- Tony, I know… it’s… it’ll be okay.”

_What choices did we make that made this inevitable?_

Tony sat on the side of the bed and leaned into Bucky, shuddering, fighting the sobs that still managed to push their way out of his throat. “It’s just so fucking unfair,” he gasped. “The guy who hit you--” He swallowed and shook his head, sitting upright again. “This is backwards. I ought to be comforting you.”

“Yeah, this is… drunk, I guess? I saw the car, I thought-- Tony, I thought you were going to be killed.”

Tony sniffled and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Kinda thought that, myself. But I couldn’t _move_ , not until you were--” He picked up Bucky’s hand, tracing lines along it that only he could see. “There’s, uh. More bad news.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bucky said, and he couldn’t help but sigh. He was going to have to go through the whole PT thing again, go through the whole addiction to pain medication and the horrific detox and withdrawal. “Uh… is Ma here?”

“Not yet. I called her while you were still in surgery and she wanted to come up right away, but I told her the doctors were going to keep you sedated for a day or two anyway and there wasn’t much point. But now that you’re awake, I’m sure she’ll be on the bus as soon as we call.”

Bucky nodded, and it wasn’t-- he didn’t mean to start crying, he really didn’t. He’d done this, it was going to be okay, he could figure it out…

“What’s the rest of the bad news?” Bucky asked.

Tony winced. “The bills,” he said succinctly. “Your insurance with the Railriders, that covered some of it, but there’s still a really big chunk left over. And you’re going to keep needing more care and meds and stuff for a couple of months, at least.”

Bucky swallowed. Nodded. “The-- the guy who hit us, who--”

“Drunk. Uninsured, uninjured, unemployed,” Tony said. “We can try to sue him for damages, but it won’t do any good.” He glanced over at Bucky, then looked back down at Bucky’s hand. “I have... a solution, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“That sounds-- dubious,” Bucky said, then-- “You can’t… I mean, he might, but I don’t think--”

“What?” Tony looked up, confused. “He who? He-- you think I’m talking about my _dad?_ Oh my god, no.” He laughed a little, halfway to hysteria. “Yeah, that would go over well, I’m sure.”

“He would,” Bucky said, darkly. “He’d pay off my bills, an’ you’d be back under his thumb, an’ I’d never see you again, but he’d do it. You know he would.”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving you, I promised, remember?”

“That’s… that’s good, baby,” Bucky said. “We’ll… we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He squeezed Bucky’s hand a little. “I’d rather be utterly destitute with you, than living the high life with _him_. Which, uh, brings me back around to my possible solution.” He chewed on his lip. “Do you remember that trust my Mama set up for me?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Your seed money, you called it,” Bucky said, shifting. His arm… was starting to hurt, even though it wasn’t there. He knew that pain. It was different from the throbbing, stuffed cotton ache of the actual wound and stitching. That was the stuff that the meds would touch. This other-- He turned his attention back to Tony, not wanting to think about the pain. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “There’s enough there to cover your bills and expenses, and even probably have some left over. The only catch is, I can’t put my hands on it yet.” He glanced sideways at Bucky again. “Not until I’m twenty-one. Or, uh. Until I’m married.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “You think that’s a good plan?” That came out sounding really bitter, but Bucky didn’t quite allow himself to flinch over it. Better go ahead and get it all out in the open. _What you have to do is be honest with Tony about your feelings._

“Not if you don’t want it,” Tony said. He shifted a little. “But we’ve been talking about the future, the future for _us, together_ , for while now. It’s not like I’ve never thought about it before. This would just... push up the timetable a little. As far as I’m concerned.”

_Or push it back a few years_ , Bucky thought. “I mean, I know--” Bucky wiped at his face irritably, trying to stem the tears. They weren’t sobs, he was just… leaking. It was almost embarrassing. “In sickness and health, but, Tony-- this is a lot of bad times that we’re looking at, ahead of me. I don’t… I don’t want to take advantage, or have you resent me for it.”

Tony gave him a look that was verging on annoyed. “You mean like the bad times I had when Dad kicked me out and I showed up at your door penniless and lost? Or how about the bad times I had before that, when Dad was ready to knock me into next week and you stood up beside me? You mean like those bad times?”

“I-- no, Tony, I ain’t saying that I doubt you, or-- it’s just a lot, okay? It’s gonna be a big burden, an’... I wanted us to get married--” _again_ “-- for better reasons than this.”

Tony’s shoulders slumped a little. “I know,” he said. “I did, too. I was going to-- Well, nevermind that. Listen, honey. I’m going to stick by you through this. Do whatever I can, whatever it takes. That’s not going to be any more of a burden if we’re married. And maybe less, ‘cause we won’t have quite so many bills hanging over us. But if you say... if you don’t want to, if you want to wait, do it right, then I get that. We’ll figure something else out.”

“You were going to-- to what?” Bucky asked. 

“I was going to ask you at graduation,” Tony said, not looking at him. “I’ve been saving up for a ring and stuff.”

“You were?” Bucky didn’t know why he was so shocked, but he was. He’d thought-- marrying Tony had been a desperate impulse, that first time. One date, and-- but he knew Tony better. Better now, than maybe he ever had. Understood a little better how he thought and what he needed. And, maybe, what Tony _wanted_.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I mean, I thought about doing it when you hit the majors, but I don’t want to steal your thunder there, so...”

“Huh,” Bucky said. “So-- I mean, this isn’t somethin’ you just thought about. Just now, because of--” He waved his free hand around a little, indicating the parts of him that were missing.

“No, of course not!” Tony looked almost offended. “I mean, like I said, we’ve been _talking_ about the future, and _forever_ , and I figured, someday... you know? This...” He looked around the hospital room. “This isn’t how I wanted it. This isn’t _anything_ like what I wanted -- except that it’s you, and I know I want you more than I want dramatic scenes and romantic gestures and, and all that.”

“I like romantic gestures,” Bucky pointed out, softly. “But you can’t say this ain’t _dramatic_.”

Tony huffed a little, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “Yeah, okay, it’s pretty dramatic.” He looked at Bucky again, expression guarded. “So? What do you think?”

“I think--” Bucky said, pausing to chew his lip, then, “I think I couldn’t never choose to do anything else. I was always gonna marry you, no matter what.”

“Yeah?” Tony’s smile broke wide, then, and he cupped Bucky’s face in his hands and kissed him gently, careful of jostling Bucky’s arm. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Bucky said. He paused for a long moment, just looking at Tony’s face. “Why don’t we get married, then?”

“Why, Mr. Barnes, what a splendid idea,” Tony said, smirking a little. “I was beginning to think you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's fraternity, [Tau Epsilon Phi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Massachusetts_Institute_of_Technology_fraternities,_sororities,_and_ILGs#Tau_Epsilon_Phi), was one of the first in the nation to openly welcome queer members.


	24. Chapter 24

There was a flash of greenish light, so bright that Bucky tried to raise his hand--

\--there was nothing there to raise, and he couldn’t see, it was so bright--

He staggered, fell forward a little and found himself braced against something cool and slick. He opened his eyes. No green light. 

No---

_What the hell?_

Five seconds ago, he’d been in his hospital bed. He’d asked Tony to have the nurse bring him something for pain. 

The doctor--

\--Bucky caught a glimpse, for just a moment, of a green necklace, the flashy suit, the smug, narrow face.

And then it was gone.

He was--

Standing in front of the trophy cabinet. It was his twentieth high school reunion -- and he’d come out here to brood over his old trophy.

Ancient history.

For a long, sickening moment, he thought everything that happened, the last two years of his life, of his _second life,_ had been some sort of extended daydream, that none of it, that nothing had changed.

And then--

He pushed himself away from the cabinet, tugging his jacket into place, straightening his tie--

\--what?

\--he’d pushed himself away from the wall with _his left arm_.

Bucky took a step back, and another step, and _stared_.

It didn’t look like a human arm. The shape was right, but it was metallic, shifting plates and whirring gears underneath. It practically screamed _Tony_. The shiny silver had an even shinier band on his ring finger, gold, with rubies.

“I-- uh,” Bucky said, turning his wrist, marveling at the way it responded to his thoughts. “ _The hell_?” He looked around for Strange, whirling, wide-eyed, but didn’t see the magician at all, he didn’t see anyone.

The hallway was empty. Aside from the trophy case, lockers, memories.

_Memories--_

\-- they’d been married in a simple ceremony at the courthouse. Jarvis had been there, and Ana, and Bucky’s Ma and sisters. And Steve and Nat, surprisingly, who’d seen the news about Bucky’s accident. (Steve followed the sports section religiously, no matter what town they’d been in.) They’d apparently gotten married in Vegas about three months before and hadn’t told anyone.

They’d had to replace the bracelet; it had been all but destroyed in the accident, but the new band was made from a gold-titanium alloy, and included a diamond garnish to replace the traditional wedding band that Bucky couldn’t wear.

\-- Stark Resilient, the company Tony had founded to advance prosthetic technology, had gone public on their third anniversary. Bucky had checked the stock reports more often than Tony, who’d mostly just watched _Bucky_ , stars in his eyes.

Bucky, with Tony’s blessing and advice, had spun off a charity to subsidize the prosthetics for people who couldn’t afford them.

\-- “I never told you,” Natasha was saying. She kept touching the artificial arm -- Bucky was wearing a sleeveless shirt to show it off -- as if astonished. “I never meant to do... _anything_ , after graduation. Was going to go home after the party and swallow a bottle of pills. But then you... You told me you had _seen_ me. In your future. And then, Steve. And... you and Tony. And I realized there were things worth living for.”

\--two years after _that_ , Bucky went back to playing baseball, having proven to the Railriders that he _could_ play. Bucky's old nemesis, Brock Rumlow, had surfaced, playing minor league ball for the Royals' farm team and claiming that Bucky was _cheating_ by having a prosthetic. It had raised a minor controversy, but it wasn’t long before he was drafted to the majors.

He played two years for the Yankees and then got traded to St. Louis, where he became the first amputee to play in the World Series.

\--a few years later, when Rachel announced her intention to join Doctors Without Borders, Bucky surprised her with an entire pallet of lightweight, fully-customizable prosthetic limbs for her to take with her. Tony had quietly backed the expedition she was on, too, but Bucky didn’t think she’d ever found out about that.

\-- the same year that Bucky made All Stars, Tony had gotten a phone call very early in the morning. Over the years, they had stayed in touch with the Jarvises, and Ana called to let him know that Howard and Maria had been on one of the company planes, headed off to vacation in the Caribbean when a sudden storm came up. 

There had been no survivors.

Tony had cried for days. For his mother, he’d told Bucky later, and for the last shred of hope he’d harbored that he might one day be able to reconcile with Howard, to meet the man on equal footing, as an adult.

\-- eighteen months later, Obadiah Stane, Howard’s business partner who had taken over the helm at SI, was indicted on charges of illegal weapons trafficking. Tony had watched the news unfolding in horror, saying over and over again, “He was like an _uncle_ to me, how...?”

But Bucky could remember -- just barely, almost like a fleeting bit of deja vu -- Stane encouraging them to marry when Tony was just sixteen, looming over them and watching every move they made, and wasn’t nearly as surprised as he probably should have been. 

\-- four years ago, Bucky had retired from baseball; his knees weren't what they used to be, and his shoulder sometimes ached in bad weather. The pain would have been tolerable, but his batting average was suffering and he decided to go out on a high note.

It wasn't like they needed the money.

\-- two years ago, Stark Resilient, in cooperation with the Wakandan Aerospace Initiative, had launched a rocket to Mars. Thirteen months later, a robot Tony had designed and helped build was walking on the surface of the distant planet.

\-- four months ago, they'd gotten word that their application to foster at-risk children had been accepted, and they hoped to be meeting Harley (ten) and his sister Kobik (six) very soon.

Bucky staggered, overwhelmed by memories, things that had and _had not_ happened.

“Bucky? Oh, there you are.” Tony’s voice was warm, welcoming, _loving_. An arm slid around Bucky’s waist and Tony leaned into his side comfortably, with an ease that spoke of hundreds, _thousands_ of similar movements. Tony looked over the old trophies with fond amusement. “Reliving your glory days, honey?”

"This is where it all started," Bucky said. "Do you remember the day we met? Rumlow and his jackass friends attacked me, right here. I ended up in the nurse's office with a-- well, I think the nurse said I _didn't_ have a concussion, but man… you were there. Remember?"

“I sure do,” Tony said. “It was love at first sight.”

"Something like that," Bucky said. "You ever think how easy it would have been, to just... I don't know. Miss our opportunity? We were seniors and we'd never so much as had a class together."

“That’s a terrifying thought,” Tony said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

"I don't even think I'd seen you before, not up close. Think I'd have noticed your.. uh… assets. If I'd seen you from more than across the gym."

Bucky used his left hand to squeeze said asset.

Tony laughed and wiggled into it. “Not quite as firm now as it was then, alas.” He tipped his head to smile up at Bucky. “Want to go sneak behind the bleachers and make out, for old time’s sake?”

" _Yes_ ," Bucky said. Like there was another answer for that. "I wonder if our initials are still there."

Tony took Bucky’s hand -- the _left_ hand, the one that he had made -- and wound their fingers together. “Let’s go see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for this story! Thank you so much for joining us on this ride! Next week we're going to start posting our Zombie Apocalypse story that we really really _really_ need to come up with a title for -- if that's something that you might be interested in, be sure you're subscribed to at least one of us.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Muscle Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916581) by [27dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons), [tisfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan)




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